


Monachopsis

by seapigeon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky x 2, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, The Future Is Hard, Tony Stark Becomes A Good Bro, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 86,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapigeon/pseuds/seapigeon
Summary: During the Battle of New York, Steve pulls a man from a crushed car - one bloody face among many.A year later, as Steve is trying to settle into a world that everyone keeps telling him is better than the one he left behind, he overhears someone defending him.He has blue eyes and dark hair and one arm.  And he's on a date with Steve's ex.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've gone and done it...I've ventured into the world of Modern!Bucky. Or ye olde shrunkyclunks if you prefer.
> 
> To avoid confusion, I'm telling you out of the gate that there are two versions of Bucky contained within. Our traditional canon Bucky, who shall be known as James Buchanan (and called Bucky throughout), and our modern version of Bucky, who shall be known as James Barnes (and called James throughout). Yes, they will meet. Yes, it will confuse Steve mightily. Yes, there will be a lot of feels.
> 
> Also, herein lies a Steve who has always been gay, and is actively trying to figure out how to live that now that he supposedly has societal permission. He's also using sex as a coping mechanism. So he's trying to inhabit norms that he isn't necessarily comfortable with and put out some emotional fires, which leads to some dub con situations (mostly mentioned, not narrated), so this is your trigger warning.
> 
> If you think I need to add more tags or warnings, let me know.
> 
> We start with a definition:
> 
> Monachopsis - the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

Steve groaned and tried to move.Near as he could tell, he’d just been blown out of building by an explosive and landed on the roof of a car.For a second, in the sudden drift of flight, he flashed back.Back to the Valkyrie.The sensation of _speed_ , of helplessness and despondence and victory and a thousand other things he could never name…and now, pain and metal and glass, a spike of panic—

No. _No._ He couldn’t.Not here, not now.Steve clenched his teeth and tried to breathe.

It took 26 seconds for the red spots to stop blinking behind his eyes.Another twenty for him to be able to get enough air to stop feeling dizzy.His eyes stung from acrid smoke and his rib cage felt caved in.

The impact had unmoored him, it seemed, from his current reality.His mind jumped to another time when the heat of a raging fire clawed at his skin and his eyes burned, pooling with defensive tears as he beheld a monster.

For weeks and months after he first saw Red Skull’s true face, Steve grappled with the question of what exactly to call his adversary.He knew from Erskine’s explanation that he was a man, however ill-suited, who had taken the serum just like him.In theory, that made them the same thing.In practice, however, they were as different as angels and demons.

But how different were angels and demons, really?

He ignored that question in airplanes, the back of trucks, in trenches, in the middle of firefights where bullets pinged off the shield mere inches from his eyes.He ignored it when those deflected bullets struck home and the shield broke necks and imploded skulls, when the blood of Hydra soaked the soles of his boots.He couldn't get bogged down in holiness on the battlefield.War made angels and demons like the sun grew plants - no serum necessary.

Steve wasn’t special.Just strong in the right ways for the situation.To this day he sometimes doubted himself, second-guessed decisions, felt like a small frail man inside a meat suit.Sure, he didn’t show it, but it was always there.Maybe one day he’d forget that he was faking.

And that was the difference; Schmidt _bathed_ in the light of his own importance.Wanted others to beg to be cast in it.Narcissism and delusion operated a continuous circle-jerk in his brain.That was what made him vulnerable.

Truth be told, Steve felt less like he’d defeated Schmidt and more like he’d tricked Schmidt into defeating himself.It still counted, he supposed.But today he’d seen something he hoped never to lay eyes on again, something that he ignored as steadfastly as the distinction between angels and demons.Today, not sixty minutes ago, he’d seen the vastness of the universe split the sky…and instead of sucking his enemy away, it was spitting them out, legions of them.The _Chitauri._

Actual aliens.From another planet.From _space_.

“Jesus Christ,” he said out loud, for the fourth time.He winced and forced his body to move.Steve slid gracelessly from the roof of the car and leaned against what was left of the passenger side door.

Natasha’s voice came over the con, winded but nonchalant.“Says the good Catholic boy.”

“He hasn’t been a boy in a while, Nat,” Tony said.An explosion crackled near him and he cursed, but it didn’t stop him from delivering his punchline.“Almost a century, right, Cap?”

“I haven’t been a good Catholic in a while, either,” Steve bantered, needing the normalcy of it as he tried to convince himself there was an end in sight.“Something about war and Nazis and waking up to this instead of the afterlife.”

“We’re all gonna be in the afterlife soon if we don’t figure out how to close that portal,” Clint said, with very rational irritation.

“Clint’s right.We need to regroup,” Steve said.He’d been separated from the others and lost track of things while saving civilians - something he was loathe to give up, but there really wouldn’t be anyone left to save if they didn’t get back on task.

“Okay.Where are you?” Tony asked.

Steve heard the telltale whine of Iron Man’s repulsors as Tony streaked by, on level with what must have been the fortieth floor of the nearest skyscraper.

“You just passed me.” 

Just then, Steve’s ear caught something else.A human sound, the sound men made when they were wounded and laying in the mud and dying.It stirred a shaky desperation in him and he looked frantically for its source.There, in a crushed car a few feet away.Movement.There was a person still alive in there. 

“Tony, give me five minutes and circle back, I have a civilian trapped in a car.There’s no way he’s getting out on his own.Everyone else, head for Stark Tower.”

He only half paid attention to the murmurs of assent.The man in the car was in bad shape.Blood clotted his hair and covered most of his face, but the head wound wasn’t what worried Steve.His left arm was, in a word, _mangled._

Steve had seen it before and given the fact that the world didn’t lose its fondness for conflict or explosions while he was frozen, he’d see it again.With a growl he pried the door from the frame of the car; the metal screamed its protest.For a moment the man’s eyes fluttered open, marbled blue, unfocused until they found Steve.

“I’ve got you,” he said, eyes darting around to make sure there were no Chitauri in sight.“Just relax.I’m going to get you out of here.”

Steve expected him to pass out when he started to move him, because that arm had to hurt, but he didn’t.He held on to consciousness with gritty tenacity, eyes never wavering.The scream he let out when the twisted remains of the car finally gave him up drilled into Steve’s bones. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said when they cleared the car.“I’m so sorry.”He was running out of time; more Chitauri were headed in their direction and he had to get this man to safety.Steve lifted him as gently as he could and sprinted for cover.He felt teeth against his suit, the heat of breath and the vibration of his moans of pain.It never changed. 

He hated it.

He delivered the man to the nurse and doctor who had set up triage in the subway entrance; they looked like they had just gotten off night shift before the sky started burping out aliens.The two women took him and got to work.Steve had to pry the man’s fingers from the strap that went around his back where he stashed the shield. 

He didn’t like leaving people in the subway.If the buildings went down they’d be trapped underground.But at least they could probably find their way out through the tunnels - the ones who could walk, anyway.The ones who couldn’t…

“Cap, where the hell—”

“Subway entrance.”

Tony spotted him and dove down, and in another second he was up in the air with the wind and heat and smoke, borne back to battle. 

 


	2. Chapter 1

The murmur of many voices had always been pleasing to him.  Maybe it was growing up in the city, where true quiet was an unrealized dream.  Maybe it was the years spent with the Howling Commandos, who could barely shut up even on missions when speech jeopardized their lives.  Maybe it was just the erasure of it.

It was easy to fade into it and let the wordless cacophony bear him away into memories.Steve settled back in his chair and remembered another time, another bar, another separation.Those times when everyone was drunk but him and he was a fond sentinel, keeping watch over the tiny flame of life among so much death.When he realized he couldn’t get drunk he was only annoyed for a few days.It lost its luster when you started to do it in order to forget, instead of just to have fun.So he watched over the others while they forgot.

Lately, he had begun to wish for that lost privilege.

Steve spun his half-full glass slowly, agitating the bubbles that clung to the sides.It was stupid, but he’d only been able to start drinking German beer without feeling strange in the last few months.It was pretty good.Good, but just as ineffective as any other alcohol.

His spine tightened a moment later, when he saw a man enter the bar.He was tall and muscular and had the most striking hazel eyes.Steve had thought, months prior, that those eyes were warm.He was wrong.

Of the hundreds, maybe thousands of bars in New York, this man had to walk into the one Steve liked best.And, he saw a moment later, he came with a date.Steve let his eyes wander over the second man.He was younger, but not by much.Dark hair, light eyes, lips made for kissing.He was shaped well, except there was something not quite right about his movement, his left side…

He was wearing a prosthesis.A cosmetic one.Not terribly useful, but then, Steve had never faced the prospect of deciding whether or not to wear a hook on a first date.He made a mental note to talk to Tony about dedicating more of his energy to better prosthetics.There needed to be better options than the carved hand when, for whatever strange reason, one didn’t want to look like a cyborg.

Steve smiled into his beer.If you spent enough time around Tony you started to think and talk like him, heaven forbid.He caught himself more and more.

Steve kept his head down as the two men passed behind him, headed for a table.He debated with himself.He knew what kind of person Ben was, but people didn’t always take kindly to an outsider trying to save them the trouble of finding that out on their own.

Steve caught the bartender’s attention and ordered a third beer - a Belgian this time, because why not.Once he had it, he tuned his ear to the table where Ben and the mystery man sat.Through their small talk he learned that the other man’s name was James, and he was a vet tech.It was all pretty harmless until the TV over the bar changed and Steve sighed as his own face, frozen in public mode, came up.

He went to a charity gala earlier in the evening.While many of the diseases that had been fatal or life-altering in his youth were now eradicated or easily curable, people still had heart defects, and he remembered what it was like to have a bad heart.The world was pretty amazing now, but it would be moreso if no one ever had to deal with that again.

So there he was, in a suit that really did look good on him - he’d have to compliment Pepper on that - making nice for the cameras.USO smile plastered all over his face.Have a heart to save a heart, motherfuckers.

“Have you heard there’s a sex tape?”

Steve tensed.

“What?Of Captain America?”James the vet tech shook his head.“No.Can’t be real.”

Maria had assured him that was what most people’s reaction would be; Captain America was too wholesome for sex, let alone recorded sex.

“They swear it’s real.And he’s with a man, not a woman.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Captain America is gay?” James said.

“He sure seemed to enjoy a dick in his mouth in the video.”

“You’ve seen it?”

Ben had more than seen it.Steve’s jaw clenched.

“It’s on youtube.I’m sure those SHIELD lawyers tried to squash it but you know what they say.The internet is forever.”

That was exactly what they said, often, and they were right.His only comfort was that James, who sat on the side of the table that faced Steve’s spot on the bar, looked ill at ease with the turn of conversation.

“It would be amazing if Captain America was gay.I mean, think of all he could do for LGBT visibility and rights.But I still don’t believe there’s a sex tape, it’s probably just an impersonator.And even if it isn’t, doesn’t the guy deserve some privacy?”

This James guy, he was a nice person, and that made Steve’s decision for him.As soon as he finished this truly delicious beer, he was going to break up a date.

“He chose to be a celebrity, it goes with the territory.I’m supposed to feel bad for him and his millions of dollars?” Ben replied. 

Steve only just managed not to snort into his beer.The only thing he _chose_ was to follow Bucky to war, and to crash the Valkyrie to end as many things as he could at once.The last thing he wanted was fame.He had gone from being invisible to being under the public microscope all the time, and both were terrible.

“He was dirt poor growing up,” James said, an edge to his voice.“And donates a hell of a lot of the money he has now to medical research and veteran’s services.”

“What are you, president of his fan club?”

“We should all be in his fan club, he saved us from _Nazis and_ _aliens_ ,” James said, as if the man across from him was incredibly simple.

Ben put his drink down.“Okay.I think we’re done here.”

“I think we are.”

And, be still his heart, it was clear that Ben expected James to get up and leave, but James just sat there, his prosthesis resting on the table like he owned it and the face to match.After a long minute, Ben pushed back from the table with a huff.

“You know, you have a pretty face, but people don’t exactly line up to fuck a guy with one arm.You should take what you can get.”

“Wow, you know what?I forgot for a minute that I’m an amputee!Silly me!” James exclaimed, loud enough for several nearby tables to hear.Faces turned toward the two men as James went on.“You’re right, I should settle for subpar douchebags like you because my lack of limb means I deserve less.Good thing you were here to remind me of my place,” he spat.

Ben became aware of the nasty glances coming his way and turned to leave in a hurry.James flipped the bird at his retreating back.A few people applauded.The cocky, defiant look on James’s face stayed in place until the other people went back to their food.As soon as eyes weren’t on him, his face fell flat.He looked tired and demoralized.

Steve stood up before he knew what he was doing.Threw a twenty on the bar.Didn’t fight his feet as they carried him toward the vacated table, even when his brain caught up.Depositing himself in the seat vacated by Ben was the bravest thing he had done in a while, including his work with SHIELD.

“Thanks for sticking up for me.”

It took James several seconds and a whole lot of blinking to understand who had sat down across from him.

“Holy shit,” he blurted, flushing.“You’re—”

Steve put his hands up and cut him off before he could blow his cover.“Yes.Yup.Yeah, it’s me.” 

“Oh my God.”James’s face lit up, his demeanor doing an abrupt 180.“You come to this bar?”

He smiled.“Yeah.All the time, actually.It’s one of the few places that’s still here, from…”Steve trailed off.Usually people got bored with his reminiscing.It was remarkable how little people wanted to hear about the past.Just the future.Just progress.He’d learned to cut himself off.

“From when you were younger?”James winced.“Oh, God, I didn’t mean it like that, like you’re _old_ or something, I meant it like—”

Steve waved a hand.“Don’t worry about it, it’s nice that you’re just accidentally implying that I’m old instead of outright telling me, which happens about two hundred times a day at home.Yeah, this place was here back then.Believe it or not, it hasn’t changed all that much.Unlike everything else.”

“I can only imagine.”

Steve nodded, wrong-footed in the best kind of way.Someone was actually listening.Interested.That was…different.And the openness in James’s face reminded him why he had come over here in the first place.

“That guy - Ben - he’s an asshole.I was sitting at the bar trying to decide how it would go over if I interrupted your date to tell you that.” 

“Confirmed on the asshole part,” James muttered.“Thanks.”

“Seems like you handled it just fine.”Steve drained the last of his beer and made to stand up, not wanting to waste anymore of James’s time.

“Hey, wait,” James said.“Don’t go.At least let me buy you a beer.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I don’t have to, but I want to.Humor me.”

Steve glanced over toward the bar.His own face was still on the television.How could people not see it?How could they not see how uncomfortable he was, every single time?

“Are there any bars that don’t have TVs?” he asked, with more desperation than he intended.

“You care what neighborhood?”

“No.”

“You okay with the subway?’

“Yes.”

James stood up.“Follow me.” 

 

 

 

It was good.It was so fucking good to be at a dive bar full of people who could care less if you were breathing, let alone who you were.It would be a long walk or subway ride home, but Steve didn’t mind traversing the city now that his lungs and his wallet weren’t barriers.

“This one, a cop brought in from a crackhouse.Poor guy, he’s terrified of people and way underweight,” James said, pulling up a picture of a black and white pitbull with butchered ears.In the picture the dog cowered in the back of a kennel, head bowed nervously.“But he’ll be all right.Just needs to be loved on and figure out he’s worth said loving.” 

This man was…a continuous and very pleasant surprise.

“Did you always want to work with animals?” Steve asked.

“I always liked them, but originally I was going to join the Air Force.Then…the arm, and, well, I was pretty lost.My friend Sam, he’s a VA counselor; he told me to volunteer until I found something that interested me.I have to admit I fought him a bit, but then I went to the animal shelter and that was it.”

“Thought of going to vet school?”

James shrugged.“I don’t really have the money.And I don’t honestly know if I could do the job as well as it needs to be done.”

“You can.” 

James shrugged again.“Another beer?”

“Sure.”It would be the fourth time James got up and come back with two bottles.It wasn’t swill, either.He didn’t know how people made up their minds now, with so many choices and all of them pretty good.

Steve glanced at his back, sandwiched between people at the bar.With a quick movement, he reached for the wallet James left on the table and slid a few twenties into it.He couldn’t let a man who didn’t have the money for vet school blow a bunch of cash on drinks for someone who couldn’t even get drunk.

It occurred to him, as James slid back into the booth, that while he couldn’t feel the alcohol, James could.His cheeks were rosy, his muscles loose.This should be the last one.People had made the mistake of trying to keep pace with him before, and Steve had made the mistake of letting them.

“What about you?” James asked.“What were you gonna be?”

Steve stared at him so long that James snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Hello?Steve?Are you in a fugue state?”

“No,” he laughed, looking at the other man in wonder.“It’s just…no one’s ever asked me that.”

“Are you _serious?_ ” 

“Yeah.”Steve looked down into his beer.“People aren’t…they’re not interested in…”

_They aren’t interested in me, just Captain America._

“I’m interested as fuck,” James said brazenly, and Steve was pretty sure he meant it on several levels.“So out with it.”

“I was an artist.Commercial illustrator, is what you’d call it now.”

James pushed the paper beer list toward him eagerly.“Draw something.”

“I don’t have a pencil and I haven’t drawn in years,” Steve protested.

“You don’t forget how to do something like _draw_ when you’re good at it,” James insisted.“And you must have been good if you were getting commercial gigs during the Depression.”He shot out of the booth and up to the bar, no doubt to get something for Steve to draw with.Steve just sat there, flustered and bewildered and… _refreshed._

James came back with a pen and set it down on the table.

“What do you want me to draw?” Steve asked.

“Whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” Steve said, “then hold still.” He was well aware that his words would push them into new territory if received the way they were intended, but James had been the one to throw down the flirting gauntlet. 

James flushed, but didn’t move a muscle, save to take a sip of beer every now and then.In ten minutes Steve finished a rough sketch.The pen felt different in his big calloused hand; he once had true artist’s hands, slender and controlled, if occasionally bloody and bruised at the knuckles.These soldier’s hands were more used to gross combat movements than the fine control of art.The sketch wasn’t great, not by his standards.He held it up for James anyway.

“See?” James said, face brilliant with a smile.“You still know what you’re doing.”

Steve laughed again.“I’m not certain I _ever_ knew what I was doing, and I sure as hell don't now.”

“Sounds like life.”

“I guess,” he agreed mildly.

There was a comfortable silence in which James examined the drawing with a closer eye, drinking in the lines.His fingers grazed over the lips - his lips.Steve had taken care with them; they were beautiful.

“Do you want to grab some food and go to my place?” James asked a minute later.

“Yes,” Steve said, without even thinking.“I’d like that.”

 

 

 

Steve managed to persuade James to let him pay for the food.James broke into the pizza box before they made it to his apartment and Steve realized that he probably hadn’t eaten before meeting up with Ben because it was supposed to be a dinner date.No wonder the beer had hit him.

“Oh, God, pizza, marry me,” he said blissfully, mouth full.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Steve asked, wry.

“You shut your mouth and unlock my door.”He couldn’t, his good hand - his _only_ hand - was occupied with a second slice of pizza.James turned his hips toward Steve and he could see the outline of keys in his pocket.It was a dare as much as a necessity.

_Challenge accepted._

Steve moved close and slid the hand that was not holding the pizza box into his pocket.His jeans were on the tighter side, thank the Lord, but not so tight that it was difficult slide his index finger into the key ring.Nonetheless, Steve lingered, enjoying the closeness, the point of control at his waist, and James’s eyes went fuzzy and his lips slack.It would have been very, very easy to kiss him.He wanted to, with an intensity he had not felt in a while.

Not yet.He wanted James to sober up a bit, to be sure of what he was doing.Steve leaned in and instead of kissing him, he turned his head and took a slow, deliberate bite of his pizza while he slid the keys out of his pocket.

James laughed and stayed in his personal space while he unlocked the door, forcing him to squeeze past sideways, chest to chest.When they were inside, door firmly shut and locked behind them, he said, “The history books got it all wrong.”

“What?” Steve replied, tensing slightly.He didn’t want the bubble to break.He didn’t want to talk or think about being anyone other than Steve because this - this was so _nice_.This was what he sought when he decided to try to test out the future’s assertion that it was okay to be gay.That he could get out there and date and seek a relationship without always having to look over his shoulder. 

Maria tried to warn him that now the issue was not being gay, but being gay and famous.That everyone had an opinion and some people had an agenda.Notch in a bedpost, bragging rights, exploitation, extortion, whatever.Love in the future was by degrees more and less complicated.It seemed like _everything_ in the future was that way.

James was watching him, head tilted to the side.

“They write you like you’re some blushing virgin with no game.”

He was right, they did, because history wrote about him and _women_.He really didn’t have any idea how to talk to them; not romantically, anyway.The women he could talk to - Maria, Pepper, Natasha - with them he was just fine, because he wasn’t expected to do some complicated social dance or read their minds beyond just being a good friend.Which they assured him he was.Well, not Natasha, strictly speaking she didn’t admit to having _friends_ …but Maria and Pepper.

James finished his pizza and licked his fingers.He closed the distance between them, pinning Steve in an intense gaze.

“That’s a load of bullshit,” he enunciated, unable to keep his eyes from drifting to Steve’s lips.

“Yes,” Steve said, fighting a smile, “it is.”

 

 

 

In spite of the pizza and a glass of water, James was fighting a losing battle against the filtration rate of his liver and the fatigue of a long day.Four beers on an empty stomach hit him hard as they demolished the pizza.Steve knew from their earlier conversation about his job that he’d been up since six, worked ten hours, gone to the gym, and then gone out.It was a little after one now.He was running on fumes.

“Oh man,” James said around the third jaw-cracking yawn.“I’m the worst.Made you come all the way out here and I can’t even stay awake to entertain you.”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” Steve replied, smiling.“And it’s not your job to entertain me.”

“Not yet,” he said, and it was pretty clear that he intended it to become his job, and soon.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him and got up to clear the table.He heard the other chair scrape back as he rinsed the plates and laid them in the sink.Then he felt the warm press of James’s body against his back, and his right hand slid into Steve’s pocket.A twist of heat curled agreeably through Steve’s belly and intensified at the stroke of those fingers against his thigh.

“Stay,” James said, lips against the back of his neck, hips flush with Steve’s ass.“I am deeply traumatized by the mean things that dickbag said earlier and I need a big strong man to grope me.”His hips tilted forward a bit, pressing Steve’s pelvis into the edge of the counter.“Oops, I mean hold me.”

Steve chuckled, trying to ignore the way his cock was stirring with interest.“Yeah, you seem devastated.”

James’s tongue painted a hot little stripe beneath his ear.“I am beside myself,” he murmured, breath ghosting over that same spot.Steve’s whole body broke out in goosebumps.Fuck, he had to stop this before he lost all self-control; James was still too drunk for his comfort.That was driven home when his hand disengaged from Steve’s pocket and rubbed straight down the front of his jeans, palming the curve of his trapped erection.

“Hey,” Steve said, and it wasn’t easy to push aside the fireworks that were going off in his brain and further south.“I thought I was supposed to be groping you.”He laid his hand over James’s, slid his fingers between the other man’s, and pulled away gently.

“Mmm,” James hummed.“Well, after such a traumatic experience it’s also very comforting to me to hold a nice hard cock in my hand.”

Oh, he was laying it on thick, in just the irreverent way that Steve had never been able to resist.But tonight he had to.

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got your very own cock to hold.”

“Smarty pants,” James pouted.He was starting to understand that he was wanted, but that Steve wouldn’t cross that line with him drunk and tired.

Steve twisted around to face him.He was…God, he was a sight, lust plain on his face.“I’ll stay.I’ll even hold you, since you’ve been through so much this evening—” James’s lips quirked in sardonic pleasure at his continuation of the bit, “but keep your hands to yourself.”

“ _Hand_.Singular,” James said with a wicked grin.“Only got one but I promise you I’d make it feel like ten.”

Steve rolled his eyes.This one, he was trouble.But it couldn’t hurt.It couldn’t, just to know what his lips tasted like… 

“For God’s sake, you didn’t even kiss me yet and here you are trying to feel me up.Rude.”

Exactly like he thought he would, James leaned forward to press their lips together.Oh.More fireworks, especially when his tongue grazed the tip of Steve’s.He tasted like hops and oregano and really, that was great, because real people, they didn’t taste like nothingness or spearmint.They tasted like whiskey, like cigarettes, like poor man’s food or hastily consumed rations.They tasted _human._ Steve was the one to angle his head, to let it become deep and sensual, and fuck.Fuck, he ached.

James pulled back, eyes heavy, breath quick.He blinked.

“I’m dizzy.”

Steve smiled at him.“You’re drunk.”

James looked at him. _Through_ him.

“It ain’t the beer, honey,” he said at last, and gave him one last brush of lips before pulling back and making his way to the bedroom. 

 

 

 

 

Morning came, gray-fingered, touching the planes of James’s slumbering body.Like this Steve could get a look at his arm, at the neat, conical flesh around a nub of humerus and its pink zipper-like scar.He also saw the wide discolorations on both of his thighs, which he hadn’t noticed the night before when he slid into bed next to him.They looked oddly like someone had taken a cheese grater to him.Skin grafts.

He had behaved last night, though Steve knew he had not wanted to.For his part, Steve waited a few minutes before joining him in the bedroom to calm himself down (easier said than done), and by the time he got in there James was already asleep.He had kept his promise to hold him, though.

“It’s not polite to stare.”His voice, gritty with beer and sleep, broke through Steve’s thoughts.He was teasing, but Steve blushed anyway.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

James waited expectantly, clear-eyed. 

“I love dawn-light.It’s…it’s different from every other light.Shows you different things.”

“Good for sketching?” James asked.

“And painting.And photography, from what I hear.” 

_Or just contemplation._ That’s what he was in the midst of.Steve never slept much, lately, because it felt like losing even more time, and he’d been awake for two hours already.

James shifted, skin whispering over the sheets.It was too stuffy in the apartment to be under them, because it was unseasonably warm for April and no one put their window unit in that early.The languid heat felt familiar in a way that Steve didn’t altogether mind.James draped himself over Steve’s side. 

“I don’t have to get ready for work for another hour,” he said, lips grazing Steve’s shoulder.“We can find out if dawn-light is good for sex, too.”

It was, Steve knew that for a fact, but he couldn’t.James must have felt the tension in his body, because he eased back slightly, searching his face.

“It’s okay,” he said.“If it’s too fast—”

“It’s not that.”Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.It was so far from that.

It wasn’t easy to crash back to reality after last night, but it would be irresponsible not to put on the brakes.He had a legitimate reason for considering the interruption of James’s date the previous evening and it went right along with the reason he couldn’t sleep with him now.If this was to progress - and he very much wanted it to - he had to be honest.

He stared at the other man, who looked back with a patience Steve didn’t think people had anymore.It was such a small thing, but it felt big in Steve’s mind.There was something about him, something that had made Steve abandon caution and come home with him even though his last few sexual encounters had left him too gun-shy to connect with anyone for weeks now.Yet here he was.He could step a little further out onto the tightrope.

“The reason I knew Ben is an asshole is because I, uh, went out with him for about six weeks.”

“His charming personality wasn’t enough to deter you?” James chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That’s the thing,” Steve said softly.“He wasn’t like that with me.He was…he was great until…”

The good humor evaporated from the other man’s expression; he picked up on Steve’s discomfort.“What happened?” James demanded, sitting up.

Steve took a breath.“Um.I guess it’s called…stealthing?Where the person removes the…”

“I know what it is,” James said, voice hard.

“When I realized I stopped things and told him to get the fuck out, but I completely forgot we were at his place, not mine, and he just _laughed_ at me.”Steve shook his head.He could still feel the humiliation, even now.“I had to get up and get dressed with him smirking at me the whole time.That’s why, when I saw you walk in with him…”

The other man’s face softened from the rage-mask it had settled into.James leaned in and kissed him, gentle, tender, trying to soothe away the hurt.It helped, but that hurt would be there for a while, Steve suspected, because it was a multifaceted thing. 

For months he had been using sex as a tool of comfort; it worked where alcohol did not, even if only for a little while.His partners had, for the most part, been kind people who took care of him and were more than happy to let him do the same for them, safely and on mutual terms.But in the last month or two, things had gone awry.The equation was no longer simple.He couldn’t, in good conscience, risk sleeping with anyone without knowing for certain that Ben had not given him any unwanted gifts.And even if he could, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let his guard down enough to get to that coveted place of complete release again. 

His jaw clenched; the pain was still fresh.The deception by someone he thought had cared, the predatory nature of it, the knowledge that it was for bragging rights, the ability to say _I barebacked Captain America_ and God only knew how many others…it hurt.Maria had warned him, there were people out there who purposely didn’t use protection so they would get others sick.Steve had no idea if he could even _get_ sick in that way, but it didn’t matter.Ben had stolen something from him and laughed in his face because he knew Steve had no recourse, not without outing himself.He just wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

There was enough in the world now that made him feel old and confused and utterly lost.This was just another thing.Another thing for him to stumble over and try to understand.Though that kind of selfishness, he imagined it would baffle anyone. 

“He’s a fucking creep,” James whispered.“And if I ever see him again I’m going to punch him in the throat.”

“No, James, you shouldn’t—”

“You went and got tested, right?”

He sighed.“I know I need to, but it’s…complicated.I can’t let anyone have samples of my blood unless it’s SHIELD or Stark Industries.People are always trying to find a way to reproduce me, for some ungodly reason.”He looked up at James.“Only one person knows that I’m gay.And a few lawyers, I guess.”

“Oh, don’t tell me…the video, too?”

Steve hung his head.“Yeah.That wasn’t Ben, though.I hooked up with a guy a couple times and when his roommate figured out who I was he filmed us.”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with people?” James seethed.

Steve shrugged.“The guy’s in jail and they block the video every time it comes up, but a few people always get their clicks in beforehand and save it and then re-upload it.Maria says I’m really lucky it’s a low quality video.It’s dark and grainy enough that most people won’t believe it’s actually me.”

“Steve, that…that is _so_ not the point.”

He shrugged again, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees.“I either go to my job and tell more of them that I’m gay and stupid, or go to my friend who can’t keep his mouth shut and tell him I’m gay and stupid.Or I go somewhere in the neighborhood and risk my blood samples being stolen and used to create some horrible thing that will raze half of New York again.”Steve stared at his hands, and so he missed the way James winced at the mention of New York being in the line of fire.“Those are my options,” he sighed miserably.

James chewed his lip for a minute.Then he stood up and padded out to the living room.He returned with his laptop and dropped it on the bed.

“Option D,” he said.“You go with me to the center down on Prospect right now.”

Steve shook his head.“The blood thing.And you have work.” 

“Listen, my sister is a lawyer and she helped me draft non disclosure agreement paperwork for the shelter, you know, when people want to strike deals on animal cruelty cases.All I have to do is tweak that.We go in, I’m your SHIELD lawyer, you’re in because a condom broke during your very wholesome hetero sex and you want to do the responsible thing.No one’s really gonna stop to think about it, as long as you’re smiling and charming the shit out of them.They sign it, you sign it, all blood taken is destroyed with us as witnesses or leaves in our possession, same for the paperwork.Steep fines and jail time for anyone with loose lips.”He held his index finger up in the air.“Problem solved!”

Steve stared at him.It was a good idea, and for the briefest second he lost his mind and considered it before realizing what the consequences could be if it went wrong.

“No way.You can’t just _impersonate_ a lawyer, let alone a SHIELD lawyer.It’s a government agency!You could get in serious trouble.I can’t let you do that.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t really ask for your permission.”He was typing one-handed faster than Steve could with two hands, altering the legal document.That was how James missed the gutted expression that passed over Steve’s face.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around.”

James froze and then looked up at him, shame written on his face.He pushed the laptop away.

“Jesus, Steve.I’m sorry.I didn’t mean…Shit.No.It’s your choice.It’s always your choice.”

Steve was still for a long time, chest tight and stomach roiling.At last he got up to retrieve his jeans and shirt from the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.He dressed slowly.Even though James’s careless words had shaken him, it wasn’t the same as the walk of shame under Ben’s smug gaze, and that was the only reason he set his phone down next to the discarded laptop.Then Steve retreated into the bathroom, washed his face and brushed his teeth with his finger, and, after collecting his phone, he left.

 

 

 

 

He was an idiot.Such an idiot.Steve had just told him some very painful things about people violating his trust and his privacy, and James went and said that.Did that.He was a colossal fucktard.

James had put his number in Steve’s phone, and texted himself so he would have Steve’s number.That had to be what he wanted when he put the phone down on the bed, right?What else could it be?

He fired off a text less than five minutes after Steve left.

 

_I’m so sorry._

 

There was no response.Of course there wouldn’t be, forgiveness didn’t happen with the same thoughtlessness as the acts that begot the need for it.He laid there until the absolute last minute, miserable with the burden of hurting him, and then got up to brush his teeth and pull on his scrubs.

At least there was solace in work.The cats and dogs and other pets always took his mind away from what ailed him.When he’d first volunteered at the animal shelter he had no idea how he survived being home by himself with nothing to do except think.No matter how cocky he was about it now, it had been hard to lose his arm.

Those long hours in subway triage without the equipment that poor doctor and nurse needed led to him developing compartment syndrome.They’d performed an emergency fasciotomy on his forearm right there, knocking him out with heroin that a dealer trapped in the subway with all the rest of them had offered because the world was about to end, if not from alien invasion, then from the nuke the government sent their way.Then, when he could be properly transferred to a hospital, they did three surgeries to stabilize the fractured bones.Most of the breaks were clean and fixable but his wrist, those small bones were all but pulverized, and they talked about fusing it.That wasn’t so bad, in itself, but with so much swelling they couldn’t close the fasciotomy.First there were skin grafts.They failed.Then a muscle flap.That failed, too, for the same reason as the grafts; his circulation had been disrupted, and it just didn't get enough blood to heal.There was no choice but to amputate below the elbow.

Even that, it was tolerable, because much of the pain went away even if it still felt like his fingers were there and the phantom pain burned like hell.He could use what remained of his arm for gross two-handed tasks and he was assured that decent prosthetics existed that would enable him to functional almost normally.Things were going well, until the hardware they put in his humerus got infected.

It was no one’s fault.Having his arm crushed in the middle of the Battle of New York was about as messy as an injury could get, in terms of risk for infection.He had been lucky up to that point.But that was where his luck ran out; the infection went wild in his bone, and finally they had to amputate just below the shoulder joint.

Altogether, he had spent nearly two months in the hospital and another month in rehab. His finances were shot, his career goal was shot, and all of a sudden he was the bad guy out of The Fugitive who couldn’t even open the bottle of liquor he wanted to pour down his throat.

Sam kept reminding him about perspective. _This sucks, but it could have been worse_. _People died that day and you didn’t.Your life isn’t over, it’s just different._ And Sam was right, but perspective was hard when so much had changed. 

That got him to thinking about Steve again.God, how could he bitch about change?He was sure most people thought it was great for Steve to wake up to the world as it was now - a real privilege.But there was a reason that people in time travel stories only wanted to _visit_ the future, not stay there.It was alien.It wasn’t that things from the past (or present, that was Steve’s _present_ until only a year ago) were better, just that they were familiar, cherished.Safe.

It hit him, then, how much courage it took for Steve to leave his house.To try to move on with his life and go out into a social milieu he no longer recognized.How fucking brave he was, after the video and betrayal by Ben, to even think about letting James touch him.James blinked back tears and picked up his favorite cat, a grizzly old thing with one eye that was spitting mean to everyone but him.

On his first break, he called his sister.

“Becca, I have a question.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked, recognizing the tone of seriousness in his voice.

“I’m fine.But I just need to know something law-related.You know what stealthing is?”

“No.”It made sense, he supposed, because she had already been married for five years and didn’t have to worry about that kind of bullshit.

“It’s when a person secretly removes a condom during sex.”

“Did someone do that to you?” she demanded instantly, in lethal big sister voice - the one that threatened dismemberment of anyone who tried to hurt him.

“No, not me,” he assured her, “but a friend of mine.Is there anything he can do, legally?”

“Oh, hell,” she replied.“I don’t know.Can I call you back?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He went back to work until lunch.There was still no reply from Steve or Becca.James sighed and went to get a curry tofu wrap from the vegetarian place around the corner.He had a new appreciation for wraps now; they were easy to eat one-handed.

As he nibbled outside the shop, sun beating down on the back of his neck, he contemplated.He might well and truly have burned the fragile bridge with Steve.If he had, well, it was one of the biggest mistakes of his life.Though he frequently made light of it, it wasn’t easy to date with one arm.People stared and tiptoed and pitied, and that just wasn’t what he wanted.Steve hadn’t seemed to notice or mind, and didn’t cringe at his dark humor.In fact, he had a feeling Steve would give it right back to him with no shame at all.

And, well, he couldn’t avoid it.He was _Captain America_.Strong, attractive, intrinsically good, and already on a pedestal in James’s life because the man was the reason he was still here.If he had laid in that car until the end of the battle, he would have died.No question.

He didn’t think Steve had made the connection.James wasn’t bothered by it.How many people had he saved that day, alone and as part of the Avengers?Dozens?Hundreds? _Millions,_ indirectly.James was one bloodied face of many.He knew how different people looked when they were covered in the blood and grime of disaster.None of his doctors or nurses had even recognized him when he went to visit a month after escaping rehab.It was because he was washed, clean-shaven, dressed in something other than a hospital gown with meat on his bones and color in his cheeks.Standing up instead of laying flat.They weren’t used to that.

He never thought he would cross paths with Captain America again.It seemed ludicrous that he might walk among mere mortals.But as big as the city was, it was also small, and the world had seen fit to shove them into each other’s paths.

He understood right away that there was the person Steve showed to the world - Captain America, big white smile, confidence in spades - and there was _Steve._ Steve, the man who looked at his own face on television and wanted to shut it off.Steve, who craved anonymity and normalcy and connection.Steve, who had slipped sixty dollars into his wallet at some point last night because he couldn’t fathom anyone incurring New York drink prices on his behalf.

Steve, who the history books and museum exhibits glossed over or forgot altogether.

James set his lunch down and licked some raita from his fingers before opening his messages.

 

_I’m sorry I acted like that this morning.I just want really badly to help you, so that you can have some peace of mind.I owe you that.But if I ruined things, I understand and I want to say thank you for looking out for me.You’re a great man.And I mean you, not that guy with the shield._

 

He sent it off into the ether and sighed.Five minutes later, as he picked at the remnants of his wrap, Becca called.

“Hey.”

“Hey.I did a little research.”

James sat up straighter.“And?”

“I hate to say this, but it seems like it’s a legal gray area, at least in this country.”

“So there’s nothing he can do?”

“Not legally, no.But if he met the guy through an app or website he sure as hell can post what he did on there, or use social media to warn people away.It’s dicey, though, because if this guy has means, he could try to sue for defamation.It’s one of those he said-he said things.”

“How is that…how is that possible?He didn’t consent to that and there could be real consequences.”

“There’s just no precedent for it yet.But it’s been getting a lot of attention, so maybe there will be, soon.”

“Well, that’s no help,” he grumbled.

“I know.I’m sorry.I wish I could do more.But in the meantime, your friend should get tested.”

“Yeah.He knows.”

“You’re a good friend, James.”

“I try to be.” _Don’t always get it right, though._

“I gotta go.I have three client meetings in a row starting in ten minutes.”

“Okay.Thanks for trying.”

James chewed on his straw and prepared himself to get up and go back to the shelter.That was when another idea hit him.Sam.Sam worked at the VA and could definitely sweet talk someone into running Steve’s blood test on the down-low without them ever knowing who the blood came from.No lawyer impersonations necessary.

He texted Steve again.

 

_Option E.My VA counselor friend sweet talks a phlebotomist and a lab tech and you get your test, no questions asked, off the record._

 

 

 

Seven hours later, his phone chirped.It was Steve.

 

_Talk to me about Option E._

 

Heart pounding, James hit the call button.Steve picked up on the second ring and he could tell that he would rather James had just continued texting him, but it really was easier for him to talk than text if he needed to do it at any kind of speed or convey large, complex bits of information.Speech to text helped but he didn’t trust it for this.

“So,” Steve said, “your VA counselor friend.”

“Yeah.Sam.He’s like, the nicest human on Earth.”

“Great.Can he keep his mouth shut?”

“Absolutely.I told him I was gay in 9th grade and he never said a word.”

Steve’s voice was tired.“Not to downplay that, James, but this is a bit larger scale.”

“I know.But I’d trust him with my life.” _Like you_ , he thought.

“Which VA site does he work at?”

“Well, that’s the one catch,” James admitted.“He’s not in New York.We’d have to go down to D.C.”

There was a brief silence.Then Steve said, “Actually, that’s better.In New York everyone knows what I look like and that I live here, so they look for me.But no one will know I’m in D.C.Better chance of going unrecognized.”

“I don’t know.There’s that exhibit at the Smithsonian.The one about you and the Howling Commandos.It opened last month.”

“Of course it did,” Steve muttered.“Well, people still won’t expect me to be there.They won’t be looking.”He sighed.“What’s the plan, exactly?”

“I figure Sam can get us the supplies to take the blood or convince one of the phlebotomists to do it, and then just drop the samples with the lab.They’ll test it for him as a favor; I know he helps people in his support groups out like that sometimes.Just another anonymous soldier looking for a little discretion, you know?And if nobody knows it’s your blood, nobody will come looking for leftovers.”

“It’s much less illegal,” Steve allowed.“Sam wouldn’t get in trouble?”

“No.He always says they want the vets to not be afraid to use the system, so they bend the rules a bit.”

Steve was quiet as he thought it over.James chewed his lip, hoping it was enough.

“Don’t need the phlebotomist,” Steve said at last.“I can do blood draws.”

He was certain there was a story behind that, but now wasn’t the time to ask.“Okay, that makes it even easier.”

“When does Sam work?”

“Last time we talked it was Monday through Friday, 9 to 6.Wednesdays he does a late group until about 7:30.”

“All right.Tell him I’m coming and let me know when he says I should show up.”

James frowned at the phone.“Wait.No.I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to.”God, he’d give anything to erase that weary tone from Steve’s voice.

“You shouldn’t be alone for something like this.”

“You shouldn’t miss work because of me.”

“Then we go on my day off.That would be Monday.Can you do Monday?”

There was a pause, and James knew Steve was looking at an actual calendar or day planner of some sort. 

“Barring any crisis, I’m free,” he said.“But James, you don’t owe me.”

“Yes I do.You think someone like Ben only does that to one person?I’m sure I was next in line.You saved me.” _From that, and from worse._

“You saved yourself.Better than me.”There was a note of bitterness in his voice that James knew wasn’t meant for him.

“Steve, he wasn’t trying too hard with me.You, he wanted.Like some kind of trophy.It’s fucked up.” 

“It’s beyond fucked up,” Steve agreed.

“I called my sister, remember I was telling you she’s a lawyer?I asked her if there was anything that could be done, legally—” 

“There isn’t.I asked JARVIS.”

“Who’s Jarvis?”

“Oh.Tony’s AI.”

“Tony like…Tony Stark?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he your friend who can’t keep his mouth shut?”

“Yes,” Steve said, “and that is the understatement of the century.Half the time I’m not even sure if I like him.”

James laughed.“You tolerate him.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“This Jarvis, he’s trustworthy?”

“I’m sure Tony has access to whatever I use him for, but I’m always asking JARVIS modern life and culture questions.I don’t think it would be any stranger than anything else I’ve asked.”

“Well, you can ask me things, if you want.”

There was a pause.Then, “You’ll laugh at me.JARVIS doesn’t.”

“How can you be sure, if he’s an AI?”

“JARVIS, do you laugh at me behind my back?”

“Of course not, Captain Rogers, that would be most insensitive,” a smooth, British-accented voice replied, loud enough for James to hear.

“See?” Steve said.“Most insensitive.”

“Steve,” James pleaded, unable to hold back anymore.“Meet me for coffee.Please.”

“No,” he replied, but the guarded weariness was gone from his voice.“Talk to Sam about Monday and I’ll meet you in D.C.Maybe we can have coffee then.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.Bye.”

Steve hung up.James took a deep breath.It wasn’t exactly making out in the kitchen or sharing a bed, but Steve was talking to him and considering coffee.It was a start.

His phone buzzed again.It was another text from Steve.

 

_Thank you.You’re a great man, too._

 

 

 

Steve ignored most of his texts over the next three days.It was no wonder; it was gala season and he was _busy_.James saw him on the news every night, either by himself or with a pretty brunette named Maria Hill.Man, could he turn it on; in front of the camera he was the embodiment of easy perfection.But now James knew how to spot the stiffness in all of it - the limitations of his smile.He was an actor in a role he could never stop playing.

On Sunday he texted Steve the information for the next day.Sam had said they’d be best off doing it during lunch break, so they’d roll in to his office around 11:30.Sam would take the samples down to the lab at noon and stay there while his friend Verne did the tests.Verne would hand him a printout of the results, folded and stuffed into an envelope, and Sam would come back up to the office.And then they’d know.Or Steve would, anyway - it wasn’t James’s right to pry.

After the serious stuff, he sent Steve a picture of the one-eyed cat he’d finally just brought home because he knew no one would ever adopt him.

 

JAMES: _I don’t know what to name this guy.He’s surly as fuck._

 

After a minute Steve wrote back.

 

STEVE: _Does he only have one eye or am I really tired?_

JAMES: _Just one eye.Do u know who Left Eye is?_

STEVE: _Asking JARVIS._

JAMES: _Why caps?_

STEVE: _It stands for something, I don’t remember what.JARVIS says she was a singer/ rapper in a group called TLC?_

JAMES: _Yeah, she “accidentally” burnt her boyfriend’s house down after he beat on her. Surly enough?_

STEVE: _I think I would have liked her._

STEVE: _My boss only has one eye._

JAMES: _OMG what is his name._

STEVE: _No._

JAMES: _Can I meet him?_

STEVE: _No._

JAMES: _I just googled the people who are in charge of SHIELD.THE GUY WITH THE EYE PATCH IS YOUR BOSS?!Because…NICK FURRY!OMG.HENCEFORTH THE SURLY CAT IS NICK FURRY!_

STEVE: … _He is pretty surly._

JAMES: _Please meet me for coffee._

STEVE: _No._

STEVE: _What time is your train tomorrow?_

JAMES: _Gets in to Union Station at 11:06._

STEVE: _I’ll meet you outside._

JAMES: _Ok. Nick Furry and I bid you good night._

 

 

 

He had worried about being able to find Steve.If he was as good at disappearing as he was at putting on a show for the public, it would be impossible.But it became clear that Steve wasn’t trying too hard to hide.He was waiting outside the station on a vintage Harley.Man, did he look good in leather.In sunglasses and his helmet, he was just camouflaged enough to be nothing more than a well-proportioned man on a nice motorcycle.

“It was too nice a day for a car or the train,” he said in a voice that was too controlled.He leaned over and unstrapped a second helmet, holding it out to James.“Ready?”

“Steve, you don’t have to do the song and dance,” James said, pulling the helmet on and climbing astride the bike.Steve turned the key and it roared to life underneath them.

“Sometimes it’s easier,” he said over the din, “than being a nervous wreck.”

 

 

 

James didn’t know how Steve was going to play it, as far as Sam went.All Sam knew was that a veteran friend of James’s needed a discreet blood test.If Steve kept enough of his face covered and didn’t say much, he could remain completely anonymous.Sam knew how to read a situation and he didn’t push or pry.He couldn’t; rapport was everything in his job.People talked when they were ready and when they felt they could trust the listener. 

James had learned a lot from Sam, and that knowledge made him more patient with Steve, who kept pushing him to arm’s length when all James wanted was…well, to be back in his arms.He’d spooked Steve.The whole situation had probably spooked him.At the very least he seemed willing to give James a second chance, but he wasn’t going to rush headlong into it this time around.So he was careful with his correspondence and his time, and he was making James work a bit to deserve both.It was only fair.

They walked down a linoleum and painted cinderblock hallway.Sam’s office was fourth on the left.Samuel Wilson, PJ, BSW, LPC.Sam and his alphabet soup; seemed like he was always working on more letters.James knocked.

“Come in.”

He looked at Steve.Steve nodded.James opened the door and stepped in first.

“Hey, man, it’s good to see you!” Sam said, standing up and crossing the small office to envelope James in a hug.“You look really good!”

“Thanks, you too, Sam.”It was true; Sam was looking as young and trim and muscular as ever.He didn’t seem to age.He offered his trademark gap-toothed smile and ushered them into the office.

He held out his hand for Steve once the door was closed behind them.He exuded calm and safety. 

“I’m Sam.Thanks for coming down today.”

“I should probably thank you.”Now James could see the nerves; Steve wiped his hand on the side of his jeans before clasping Sam’s hand.“Steve.”

“Good to meet you.Have a seat if you want.I have water and orange juice and crackers just in case.Not everybody’s good with blood.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Steve said, in a strange, worn voice.

Sam noticed it, too, but kept to his task.He rummaged in one of his drawers and pulled out some supplies; alcohol swabs, gauze, purple rubber tourniquet tie, a butterfly needle, a few vials.

“James said you can do the draw?”

Steve nodded and reached for the swab and the tourniquet.He shrugged out of his jacket.He was wearing a thin, loose hoodie underneath; currently the hood was up and the sunglasses still on.He pulled the left sleeve up and swabbed the inside of his elbow.Then, with a deftness that was jarring, he used his teeth to help tie off the tourniquet.As he waited for a vein to pop, fist clenched, he looked up at James.

“Do I look like I belong on that Intervention show?”

“Little bit,” James said.

“Clint said if I ever felt bad about my life I should watch it and it would make me feel better.But it didn’t, not really.”

“You sound like an empath,” Sam said.“Seeing others in pain causes you pain.”

A half-smile touched Steve’s lips.“Shouldn’t that be true of everyone?” 

“It should be, but I think we both know it isn’t.” 

Steve sighed, and then he shook back his hood and took off his sunglasses.He didn’t look at Sam as he reached for the butterfly.He hit the vein effortlessly without so much as a wince and started the first vial.

James looked up at Sam.Sam’s eyes were huge.He mouthed _what the fuck?_

“Howard, he wanted me to do weekly blood draws for the first six months after the procedure, just to make sure my body wasn’t going haywire.Not that I think we really had any idea what that would look like.He didn’t trust anyone else to do it, not after what happened with Erskine.He was really, really good at a lot of things, but I swear to God, he could not find a vein to save his life.I got tired of being butchered once a week so I learned to do it myself.”

“Howard Stark could build arc reactors and atomic bombs, but couldn’t manage to hit one of your ridiculous veins?” James asked.

“I shit you not,” Steve murmured.“The skill came in handy more than once so I guess I shouldn’t complain.”He relaxed his hand out of the fist as the last vial filled.Then it was done; he popped off the tourniquet, pulled the needle, and pressed a square of gauze to his skin.At last he turned to Sam, who only _just_ managed to erase the incredulous look on his face before Steve locked his Captain America Is Serious gaze on him.“Sam, this blood, it needs to be destroyed or brought back to me when it’s done in the lab.”

“Of course,” he said, sounding much calmer than James knew he was inside.He picked up the three vials and moved toward the door.“I’ll be back.”

 

 

He’d been down in the lab for ten minutes when James’s phone vibrated, once, twice, three times.

“Is he texting you?” Steve asked.

“Yup.”

 

SAM: _What the fuck WHAT THE FUCK did you just bring Captain America to my office_

SAM: _He’s not dying, is he?OMG that would be terrible, is he dying and doesn’t want people to know?_

SAM: _Dude is sad.Has he gotten counseling?I mean WW II was like 5 mins ago for him.PTSD central.And the future, without his people.So overwhelming.Does he go to the VA in NY?Does SHIELD have counselors?_

 

“He has a flair for the dramatic.He thinks you’re dying,” James said.

“We’re all dying,” Steve replied.

Jesus.Dude _was_ sad.

“Does SHIELD have counselors?”

“They do,” Steve said.“Tell Sam I’m not dying.He’s an empath, too.”

 

JAMES: _He’s not dying.Not on the outside, anyway._

SAM: _Does he remember you?_

JAMES: _I don’t think so.But I’m sure he pulled like 500 half dead people out of cars that day._

SAM: _You are going to have to tell me exactly how this happened.Verne says 10 more minutes._

JAMES: _Ok._

 

 

 

“Ten more minutes.”

“Okay.”

 

 

 

True to his word, Sam came back upstairs with a sealed envelope.He handed it to Steve.

“Verne destroyed the blood in front of me, there’s nothing left.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want us to step out?”

Steve thought about it for a few seconds.“No.No, depending what this says I might need a little moral support.”

“It’s going to be okay,” James said fiercely, as if his willpower was enough to make it so.He reached for Steve’s hand and Steve indulged him with a little squeeze.Then he ripped the envelope open and unfolded the papers within.

He closed his eyes and James felt his stomach drop.But then:

“Negative,” he said.“Everything’s negative.”He teared up and quickly put his hand over his face, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes.

“Emotions are okay in here, man,” Sam soothed.He set a tissue box down near Steve as non-threateningly as possible.

“How long were you waiting for that?” James said, feeling shaky. 

“A month,” Steve answered, voice muffled.

God.Sitting on something like that for a month, with no idea?It would have driven James crazy.

“It’s over now,” he said.“And we’re going to take care of you.”

 

 

 

SAM: _If I had known you were bringing Captain America to my house I would have cleaned it!!!!!_

JAMES: _His name is Steve._

 

 

 

Steve wasn’t in a state to notice Sam’s house.He sat on the Metro like a zombie, all out of energy for human interaction.As soon as they got to Sam’s place he curled up on the couch and fell asleep.James knew then that he must not have slept well the entire month.The one night he stayed over Steve went to sleep after him and woke up before; who knew if he had even slept at all?

He slept straight through until Sam got home, breathless from riding _Captain America’s motorcycle_ home through the usual stop and go nightmare of rush hour.He’d strapped a grocery bag to the bike.James rejoiced at that.Sam could _cook,_ and it was obvious that he intended to.

Steve woke up while they prepped the food, but didn’t move.He just watched and listened.James wasn’t much help without his one-handed cooking tools - the half-moon knife, the cutting board with the squared edge and the spike - but Sam was cognizant of that and doled out tasks accordingly.It was while he was searing chicken thighs that Sam looked up with a trace of alarm on his face.

“Crap.When’s your train back?”

“I didn’t get a ticket.Figured I would just buy one at the station whenever we were done.”

“This isn’t going to be ready until almost 9.Maybe you should stay over and take the early train.” 

James looked over to Steve.He had made it to a seated position, but was curled into the corner of the couch.Funny, how such a big man could make himself so small.

“As long as you don’t miss work,” Steve said.

“Sure you don’t mind us crashing, Sam?”

“Dude, seriously?Shut up and flip the chicken.”

 

 

 

The 9 pm dinner of pulled barbecue chicken, mac and cheese, and mustard greens left them all borderline comatose.Steve didn’t say much during the meal, but that was all right; Sam and James had a lot to catch up on and talked easily all the way through.When they were finishing the last of their beers Steve finally broke his silence.

“Thank you for that.Pepper’s in charge of the menus at the Tower and I think if I eat one more chia seed I might snap.”

James snorted and Sam barked a surprised laugh.

 

 

SAM: _You didn’t tell me Captain America is funny!Think he’s feeling a little better?_

JAMES: _Will you please call him Steve?And your food makes everyone feel better._

 

 

It wasn’t until they were in front of the TV that Sam started to understand.Steve wasn’t trying to stay awake for the baseball game.They turned it on in the sixth inning, and by the seventh inning stretch, he tilted down to the cushions and rested his head on James’s thigh.James was surprised; he had already shown so much of himself to a new person that day, but maybe he was too tired to care about showing a little more.Or maybe he liked and trusted Sam as much as James did.It was hard not to; Sam was just that kind of person.

James stroked a tentative hand through his hair and any remaining tension drained away from him.Steve was asleep in under five minutes.James pointedly did not glance up because he could _feel_ Sam staring.

“James,” he said.

“Later.I don’t think he’s slept in a month.”

 

 

 

“If _my mother_ somehow finds out that I let _that man_ sleep the night on my couch instead of a bed—”

“Then you send her to me because I am not waking him up.”

“ _James_.”Sam _sounded_ like his mother; he half expected his middle name.

“I have to go to bed, early train!Night, Sam!”He fled.

“You little son of a bitch,” Sam muttered.

 

 

 

SAM: _ARE YOU DATING CAPTAIN AMERICA_

JAMES: _HIS NAME IS STEVE, JFC!_

JAMES: _and yes. maybe. kind of._

 

 

 

He didn’t know what time it was when Steve stole into the room.Not dawn-light, yet, but maybe not that far off.Steve woke him with a gentle touch.When he had blinked the sleep from his eyes, he saw that Steve was perched on the side of the bed, posture round and uncertain.James reached out and tugged lightly at his arm.

That was all it took.Steve slid under the covers next to him.The first thing that hit him was his smell; warm, musky, the faintest trace of wind and Ivory soap.Of course he used Ivory.It was probably one of the only familiar things on the shelf.

He hesitated for a moment, propped up on his right elbow.Then, decision made, he turned into James’s body, slotting their thighs together, his big hand cupping his jaw and tilting him into a kiss.It was like pulling a sweater from the dryer on a cold winter day and slipping it on.James wanted to gather Steve around him until nothing else shared their air.

It was good.As good as he remembered from last time, and better, because alcohol and fatigue weren’t persistently dragging him toward sleep.Just the opposite.He became more and more awake as Steve kissed him.First just lips, then the graze of tongue, slow, unhurried as his hand slid from jaw to neck to chest and lower still, nipping below his t-shirt to seek skin.Oh, if the historians knew how this man could kiss…

Only one thing bothered him, though it seemed ludicrous to be bothered by anything when Steve’s hand rested low on his belly and the mutual scrape of morning stubble was reminding him just how much of his brain’s sensory capacity was devoted to his lips.This, like the other night, was restrained.Steve held back the week before because James was drunk.What tempered him now?Was it because they were at Sam’s?

James didn’t think so.He had come in here and initiated this knowing full well they were attracted to one another and would have a hard time stopping, no matter what etiquette said about sex in a friend’s guest room.He knew without having to ask that Steve had done it in riskier places; _everywhere_ was a risky place in the ‘30s and ‘40s, and he damn well knew how to keep quiet. 

Then what was it?It was _something,_ because James could feel that he was only semi-erect against his hip.His drunken bravado the other night had yielded substantially better results even though Steve had no intention of actually giving in to him.It seemed right now that he had every intention of giving in, but his body’s reaction was lukewarm, at best.James didn’t know what to make of it. 

His mind could not let it go, no matter how he tried.And try he did, because Steve, even holding back, knew how to kiss and at any moment he would move his hand lower and the world would stop making sense.But James couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. 

What if Steve wanted the comfort of being close but thought it had to come with other things?As if, somehow, he owed it to James, having turned him down previously and feeling indebted for the help with his blood tests?Maybe he even _wanted_ those other things, but was still too wrapped up in what had held him hostage for a month to be clear-headed about it.Maybe Steve had no idea what he wanted and hoped that touch would guide him.

He wanted Steve, wanted him with an intensity that put a catch in his breath, but not like this.He knew what it was like to be fragile.He’d been there, the first few times he had sex after losing his arm.He was used to the new reality of his body but there was a different process involved in getting used to _others_ seeing and accepting it.It was a lot like losing his virginity all over again.And his first time, after, had been with a friend of fifteen years, not someone he’d known for a week.

James caught his wrist right as he made to move downward to the promised land.Steve paused, pulled back and looked at him, the question plain in his eyes.

“Steve,” he said softly.“Let’s…let’s go on dates.Real ones.” 

He blinked, and then he nodded slowly.There was something grateful in his eyes before they cut away.James guided Steve’s arm around him and gradually he relaxed, draped over James’s left side, head resting against his chest.

After a while, Steve said, “That was going to be your wake up call.Your train leaves in an hour.”

“Ugh,” James breathed.It took at least twenty minutes to get to Union Station from Sam’s place, and he had to print his ticket at the kiosk.He could only languish in bed for another ten minutes at most.He felt like it would be easy to waste a day just like this, wrapped up in this man that no one really knew.

Steve just breathed through those ten minutes, fingers tracing little circles against his side that didn’t quite tickle.When James finally dragged himself out of the bed, he followed.In another ten minutes Steve was there to see him out the door, and he did it with a kiss that was deep and unfettered and full of promises. 

His legs were still rubbery when he walked into work four hours later. 

 

 

Steve didn’t manage to get back to sleep after James left, but it was all right.He’d already slept more in the last 24 hours than he had all month.He had not realized how much he needed it.That was the useful, yet awful thing about being a super soldier.His bar for complete and utter exhaustion was much, much higher than everyone else’s.The last time he’d felt this tired was after the Battle of New York; Tony still made fun of him for falling asleep in his shawarma. 

It should have felt strange to be in a friend of a friend’s house waiting for said friend of a friend to wake up.Somehow it didn’t.He liked Sam in an unguarded way that he had not felt in a while.He was kind and there was nothing false about him.Most people now, there was _something_ they were faking and since everyone did it, no one noticed.That wasn’t to say that people never pretended in his time, just that the deception was more elaborate now because people willingly put themselves on display across all platforms, every hour of the day.Nothing made him feel more out of place than the incredibly strong urge to just be _left the fuck alone_.Even text messages were too much for him sometimes.That sensation of being in a bubble upon which others couldn’t intrude, unreachable, _free —_ he missed that.

That was part of the reason he liked James so much.Around him, that bubble began to form.It was something he could get lost in.Lost in the only good sense of the word, because damn, had he been lost since stumbling out into Times Square last year.

At 7:45 Steve got up and padded into the kitchen.He knew right away what kind of mama Sam had; it was spotless in spite of last night’s culinary efforts.It made him crack a smile.He would have to make sure to leave it in kind when he was done cooking breakfast.

Sam emerged at 8:00 and was clearly surprised that he was still there.Steve could tell that he was trying very hard not to be starstruck in the kitchen doorway.

“It’s the least I could do,” Steve said with a shrug, handing over a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast and a cup of coffee.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” Sam replied.“Really.”

“I wanted to.”

“Well, thank you.Usually I’m just stuffing a protein bar in my face on the way out the door.This is a treat.”

“Not anywhere close to your cooking.”Steve shook his head and offered a smile.“It won’t be easy to go back to the chia seeds.”

It was a joke, but Sam tilted his head and gave him a look.“Do you ever tell Pepper that you don’t like them?”

Steve blinked, surprised that Sam remembered her name and that he had not fallen for the patented humorous deflection that seemed to work on everyone else.“Oh, it’s not that I don’t like them.I mean, I guess they are kind of weird but she says they’re good for you…” 

Sam just stared, impassive, waiting.He was _good_.

“Okay,” Steve relented.“I hate them.”And 75% of everything else they fed him at the Tower, not because it didn’t taste good - most of it did - but because it still killed him, how expensive and exotic things were and how little that mattered to Tony and Pepper. That was to say nothing of the fact that he’d grown up on the cheapest of everything and then spent 3 years eating Army rations.Perverse as it was, sometimes he just wanted to eat an organ or a part of an animal that people threw out these days, or something that came out of a pouch. 

“Then why don’t you tell her that?” Sam asked, bringing him back to the moment.

“I’m living in their house—” _Their fucking BUILDING, Steve, it’s an entire skyscraper,_ “eating their food, using their things, and they let me, for free.I can’t…I can’t _complain_.”

Sam shook his head and gestured with his fork.“There is a really big difference between speaking your needs and complaining.”

“It’s just…I don’t want…to seem _ungrateful_ ,” he forced out.It was hard to say out loud.

“You’re not.I can feel how grateful you are from here.You can be grateful and still have an opinion.”Sam picked up a piece of bacon and chewed thoughtfully.“This Pepper, she obviously cares about you if she wants to feed you healthy food.Something tells me she won’t be too put out by you telling her chia seeds give you the willies.” 

Steve looked down at his hands.Rationally, he knew Sam was right, but that didn’t change the mild panic he felt when he thought about acting on his very reasonable words.The willies, indeed.

“People still say that, huh?” he mused quietly.“Pepper would just find some other bizarre thing.She’s really into - what are they called - antioxidants?”

Sam laughed and let him off the hook. “Yeah, every week something new will kill you or make you live ten more years.And the next week the thing that would kill you will make you live and vice versa.”

“It’s just so strange,” Steve said, not meaning to sound far away but unable to help it.“To go from there never being enough to there being so much that you have to _think_ about it.”And he didn’t just mean food.Money, information, _things -_ he was unprepared for a culture of excess.

“Steve,” Sam said, deliberate in his choice to use his name for the first time, “that stuff yesterday, that’s none of my business and I’m never going to ask.But as a counselor I have to say it.You need to talk to someone.” 

It wasn’t the first time someone said that to him, and Lord knew they had offered.The Army, SHIELD, _everyone_.People talked about feelings now, wrote down what ailed them on an official record.It was a far cry from the past, when all Bucky had gotten after weeks of torture as a POW was a pat on the back and a stiff drink.Steve had gotten much the same after the loss of his best friend.

Maria had more or less bulldozed him into going to someone a few times.All he could manage was to be unfailingly polite and lie through his teeth.How could this person, this forty-something vastly more fortunate than he, ever understand the scale of what ate at him?

“I know I should,” he admitted.“I just can’t imagine what they could possibly say to make it any better.”

Sam fixed him in a stare.“They’re not supposed to make it better, Steve.They’re supposed to help you find a way to live with it.”

Steve sat with that for a minute, poking at his eggs.

“I _am_ living with it.I guess I’m not doing as good a job as I thought.”

“You do too good a job.To look at you on the TV, man, no one would ever know.Tell me what’s crazier, Steve: someone who’s been through everything you have struggling to cope, or that same person being totally fine?” 

The latter, of course.

“It’s what people want, though,” he sighed. 

“Fuck that noise,” Sam said, sure in a way that Steve envied.He glanced at his watch.“Ah, crap.I have to go.Please, stay as long as you you want.Won’t bother me if you’re still here later or a week from now.Here’s my card, and I’ll tell James to give you my cell number.I can talk anytime.”

Steve smiled, a little in awe of his good luck to meet two nice, insightful people who saw _Steve_ in one week. 

“James said you were the nicest person in the world.He was right.”

Sam laughed.“Oh, I have my moments, I guess.It was my genuine pleasure to meet you, Steve.”

“Same.”He took Sam’s outstretched hand and clasped it with more feeling than he had the first time around.“Thank you.Really.”

“You’re welcome.Really.” 

 

 

 

STEVE: _How’s work?_

JAMES: _Fine.Animal control brought in a dwarf caiman today.It was in the lake in Central Park!_

STEVE: _What is a dwarf caiman?_

JAMES: _A mini alligator_

STEVE: _Wait it was really in the park?_

JAMES: _Yup.Someone probably got it as a pet and didn’t realize how big it would get and just let it go.Happens all the time._

STEVE: _Why would anyone want an alligator as a pet what is wrong with people_

JAMES: _I don’t know.You still at Sam’s?_

STEVE: _No.Rest stop on the NJ Turnpike._

JAMES: _Pinnacle of elegance_

STEVE: _Needs must.Believe me I’ve been in some classy joints that make a rest stop bathroom look like Buckingham Palace._

JAMES: _I need to hear those stories._

STEVE: _Might ruin your high opinion of me._

JAMES: _Never!Hey, you free Thursday for our first date? ;)_

STEVE: _Should be.What do you have in mind?_

JAMES: _Gotta think about it.Anything you’ve been meaning to do?_

STEVE: _Oh only about 10,000 things_

JAMES: _Do you have a bucket list?_

STEVE: _I have no idea what that is_

JAMES: _A list of stuff you want to do before you kick the bucket_

 

He left that unanswered for a long time.How was he supposed to tell James that he wasn’t sure he _could_ kick the bucket?

 

STEVE: _I don’t have one of those.Do you?_

JAMES: _Hell yeah._

STEVE: _What’s on it_

JAMES: _Oh man so many things.I want to go to Bali, go up in a hot air balloon, see the Pyramids, the Northern lights.Go somewhere so dark you can see the Milky Way.Eat escargot.Grow my own food.Hold a sloth.I could go on forever._

STEVE: _Wow._

JAMES: … _what do you mean by that?_

STEVE: _Most of that would never occur to me.Was never in reach._

STEVE: _Except the darkness. The London blackout, if things were just right and there were no airstrikes…and a dozen middle of nowheres on the continent, if you were brave enough to look up knowing you might get a bullet in the eye for one second of awe…_

JAMES: _Paint it.And keep talking._

STEVE: _This isn’t talking._

JAMES: _Do you hate this?Texting?_

STEVE: _I don’t hate it, it just isn’t talking._

JAMES _: Thursday, then.And I’m serious, paint it._

JAMES: _Have to go assist a couple of spay surgeries and figure out how to feed a caiman without losing my other arm.Think about what you want to do for the date, k?_

STEVE: _Whatever you choose will be fine.I trust you._

JAMES: _You sure?_

STEVE: _Yeah, I am._

JAMES::D

 

 

Two hours later, as Steve was settling back into his couch in the Tower, James sent him a video of a crazy Australian man in khaki shorts wrestling a crocodile.That was followed by a movie clip of an actor he vaguely recognized - Jim something? - falling into a shark tank and being dragged around while shouting “That’s not Snowflake!”It made him all but certain that James had named the caiman Snowflake, and it also made him smile even though it was one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever seen.

He stood up then, a decision in his bones.

He was going to paint it.

 

 

“Steve?”

He blinked at the faraway sound of someone saying his name.It took him a few minutes to return from whatever mental plane of existence he’d reached.He had forgotten the way hours could disappear in the pursuit of art.

The hand that settled on his forearm was delicate.

“Pepper,” he breathed.“Sorry.”

“You weren’t at dinner and JARVIS was trying to talk to you.You didn’t respond so we got an alert,” she said.“Now I see why.”

He could see from the windows that it was dark out.“What time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

He had started around 3:30.The first hour had been frustrating, full of his hands not working the way he wanted them to, but it was just a matter of merging the good and the bad.They were steadier now, less prone to fatigue, but he needed to learn how to relax and move with gentleness.A brushstroke didn’t need follow-through like a punch.Though a lot of them could inflict damage, all the same.

“It’s lovely,” Pepper said.“I had no idea.”

“Had to make a living somehow,” Steve murmured.His fingers were stained dark blue and purple.“Since I wasn’t any good for hard labor and couldn’t afford school for anything else.”

She seemed not to know what to say to that.People never did, when he was honest about his life before the serum.Even in the forties people assumed he was glad to be rid of that life.He _was_ glad to be healthy, and to have the opportunity to fight for his country, but the other things?He wouldn’t have traded them.Not living paycheck to paycheck with Bucky, their too-small apartment that felt like a freezer in winter and a sauna in summer, the dull ache of not quite enough in the belly when prices went up or he had to spend his money on medicine so that he’d be alive to be hungry. 

It wasn’t easy, but he never starved, he never froze, and he was never alone or unloved.People now, they didn’t understand how he could be satisfied with that, even though those things were really all that mattered.It was a gulf too big to be crossed, and both he and Pepper struggled with it.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He nodded.He was always hungry, still, but no longer for a lack of food.It was his metabolism now.They’d probably put him in a mental institution if he admitted out loud that he _liked_ that little discomfort.It grounded him.

“I’ll bring you some leftovers.”

The conversation with Sam popped into his brain, bouncing around like a pinball.He’d forgotten, too, how art stripped things away and exposed you.Maybe that was why he avoided it for so long.His head was still partially lost in the starscape he was painting, so the words came easy, water from a cracked dam.

“Pepper, I want to do my own shopping and cooking.I appreciate everything you and Tony do for me, really, but I already…I already feel like I’m on display all the time, and when you pick out my food and it just appears, it…I feel like I’m an animal in a pen somewhere and I’m trapped and useless until the audience needs me to balance a ball on my nose.”

_And you could, look at that thing,_ Bucky would have said.It speared him and he actually winced, hand drifting to the left side of his chest.

Pepper looked stricken.That was not what he wanted, but it was too late now.

“Steve, are you…are you okay?” 

God only knew what face he was making, thinking about Bucky and everything else at the same time. _What’s crazier?_ Sam’s voice asked in his head.

“No,” he answered, and it felt _good_ to say that.

“What can I do?” she asked earnestly.“What do you need?”

Pepper was wonderful and Tony did not deserve her.His only saving grace was that he knew that.He knew that he was an ugly thing orbiting around the warm brilliance of the sun, much like Steve had always felt with Bucky.That last little wedge of resentment in his gut that existed for Tony gave way.He loved them.He loved them both, oblivious though they were.

“I need to paint,” he said.“And be alone.”

She wrung her hands, green eyes full of misgivings.He must look _terrible_.That felt good, too, to let the outside match the inside for once.

“You’re not going to hurt yourself, are you?”

Heaven help him, he laughed.He couldn’t help it.If crashing an airplane hadn’t ended him it was a pretty good bet that whatever would required more effort than he was willing or able to give.He wouldn’t say that to Pepper, though; her kind soul wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“No, Pepper,” he said instead.“I promise.”

She took a deep breath through her nose and reset her feet, as if getting ready to take a hit.She lifted a finger and pointed it at him.

“Because if you’re even _thinking_ about it…”

He reached out and pulled her to him, feeling how small she was against his chest.Like Peggy then.Like Peggy _now_.Both women were made of brains and grit.Neither would let him get away with anything.

“Only if you make me eat more chia seeds,” he whispered in her ear.

Pepper full-on punched him in the shoulder, and when she stepped back from the embrace she was laughing and sniffling at the same time.She shook her head with a fondness usually reserved for Tony and then let herself out.

 

 

He painted until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and then he fell asleep on the floor beneath the easel.When he woke he still felt a little dissociated, like the layers that made him up weren’t quite aligned.Steve laid on the floor, his hoodie underneath his neck as a pillow, and watched the sun rise and stretch long fingers into the room.

The colors of the painting looked right.He’d gone for watercolors because they were the cheapest and easiest and it was stupid to waste money on acrylic or oil without knowing if he could even do justice to a still life anymore.He could.Even in this body, skewed towards hardness and brutality, he could.

Steve peeled himself off the floor.He was hungry.And the light, he felt quite suddenly that he needed to be out in it.Away from walls.Away from _captivity_.

 

 

James dropped his keys when he stepped out his front door and Steve was there, leaning against a parking meter.He was in workout clothes and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. 

“Did you run all the way here?”

“Yes,” Steve said.He strode forward and crouched to pick up the keys.

“What for?” James asked with a bewildered smile.

“To meet you for coffee,” the blond replied, eyes down, like maybe he’d say no.

“Oh, Steve.”His heart felt funny in his chest.“I only have ten or fifteen minutes, if I had known…” 

“That’s fine.”He held the keys out and James took them.His hand lingered, and James couldn't stop his thumb from running over his knuckles.It took everything he had not to turn back around, drag Steve into his apartment, and tumble him into bed.If Steve was a regular person, he would have.But Steve was Steve, and he was fragile, and James could wait a couple of weeks.

“Okay,” he said. 

Steve walked with him to the coffee shop.James watched the expression on his face while they sipped iced coffee and he ate a giant piece of coffee cake as if it was foie gras.He was unsettled, like there was electricity under his skin, but there was also something rapturous in his eyes.

“How’s Snowflake?” Steve asked, licking brown sugar from his fingers. _God_.

“She’s good,” he said, trying to force his mind away from the very sudden knowledge that once Steve was done going through whatever he was going through, the restraint that had marked their previous encounters would be gone and he was going to be devoured like that piece of coffee cake.“Want to meet her?”

Steve nodded, and they walked the rest of the way to the animal shelter.He wondered if that was a mistake; he remembered what Sam had said about Steve being an empath, and it only took one look to know that the cages stressed him out.Steve chewed his lip as he looked through the bars of the biggest cage they had, where Snowflake rested in the baby pool James had filled up for her the day before.She was at least three and a half feet long; she belonged in a river in South America, not here.

“Can she be returned to the wild?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.“I have an e-mail out to the reptile people at the Bronx Zoo.They’ll probably take her.”

“Wouldn’t have to be like that, if people just left well enough alone,” he murmured, fingers trailing against the bars.

“Come on,” he said softly, pulling Steve away.

 

 

He ran until he was hungry again.By then he was in the Bronx and he made the day of everyone in a random Jamaican restaurant.They were so cheerful and happy that he posed for selfies and didn’t mind that the kitchen staff printed one of them to tape up behind the register.He paid in cash because he was an old man, as Tony so often reminded him, and when the cashier shyly asked him if he would sign one of the bills, he did.

_Thanks for a great meal and great company._

He signed it Steve Rogers, and drew a little picture of the shield.Before he would have signed _Captain America_ , thinking it was what people wanted.But these folks seemed pretty okay with Steve Rogers.They sent him off with a to-go container of sweet plantains that he couldn’t possibly eat because he was already full.He gave them and the rest of the cash in his wallet to a homeless man with a Vietnam vet hat six blocks away from the restaurant. 

He knew anyone could wear the hat, but no one could fake the look in the eyes of a man who had seen too much.

 

 

Steve ran on, all the way up to Yonkers and then back down through Manhattan, neighborhoods blurring by under his feet.He didn’t know what he was running from or to and that was all right.In Central Park he sat down on a bench and called the people in charge of the event he was supposed to make an appearance at tomorrow afternoon and canceled.Then he opened up his calendar and grimaced, and made ten more calls.He felt his heart rate and breathing slow down as he deleted each thing from the calendar, until the next week was completely blank.The PR girl would be mad at him but he had no capacity to care. 

 

 

JAMES: _Did you therapize Steve?_

SAM: _A little._

SAM: _Why?_

SAM: _James?_

SAM: _Hello?_

 

 

STEVE: _Hi Sam.It’s Steve Rogers._

SAM: _Hey man!Glad to hear from you.How are you?_

STEVE: _Eh.Do you know anybody good to talk to up here in NYC?_

SAM: _Give me 15 minutes._

 

 

STEVE: _I told Pepper I don’t like chia seeds.Now she thinks I’m trying to kill myself._

SAM: _I feel like there’s a piece of that story missing._

SAM: _Are you?_

STEVE: _No._

SAM: _You ever get there, you call me, ok?Or James.Or ANYONE.There’s a hotline._

STEVE: _Ok._

 

 

“Steve?”

Mm.What part of alone did Tony not understand?Right.The whole concept that anyone could want to live in a world that did not include him.As much as Pepper was the sun around which he revolved, he was also his own sun.

“Yeah?”

Tony approached as if he was a skittish animal.Which, to be honest, he was.

“I got a call from Chloe.She said you canceled a bunch of events.And Nick, he said you told SHIELD you were taking a few weeks off.” 

His eyes darted to the canvas still on the easel.Why a painting should bring such concern into his face, Steve didn’t know.And why it took him appearing to go off the deep end to summon something other than relentless sarcasm from Tony, he also didn’t know.Tony plunged on, looking uncomfortable but worried enough to push through it.

“Is there something going on?Something I can help with?Because, you know, whatever you need, Steve, anything, it’s yours.”

He summoned patience from a well whose depths had been well and truly tested in the last year.

“Like I told Pepper,” Steve said as gently as he could, “I need to be alone.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded.“Okay.I get it, man, I do.It’s just…well, it upsets people when you don’t respond to texts or calls.And when you cancel things.Go AWOL.They’re concerned.I need to know what I’m supposed to tell them.”

“Whatever you want.”

“See, that…” Tony let out a perturbed sigh.“Things like that, that’s what makes me think something’s really wrong.” 

Steve fought the urge to laugh - the urge he had not be able to master around Pepper.He clamped it down successfully this time.He just looked at Tony; he didn’t feel like repeating himself.Tony fidgeted and then turned toward the window.It was always easier for him to bare a bit of himself if he wasn’t looking at the other person.

“Couple years ago, before you were found, I went through some things.”He tapped his chest - the arc reactor.“It used to run on palladium and it was poisoning me.As far as I knew there was no substitute.So either way, I was facing death, because let’s be honest, if I couldn’t figure it out, no one could.My only option was to choose _how_ to die.Messed me up a little bit and of course I didn’t tell anyone.” 

“That’s stupid,” Steve commented.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, irritation written all over him at Steve’s less than sympathetic reaction.“It was.I did a lot of stupid things, burned a lot of bridges, before I figured out how to fix it.Thankfully Pepper and Rhodey didn’t give up on me and we’re all still here.The point is, Steve, that if there’s something going on you shouldn’t be a martyr about it.You have people here to help and you’re as much of a moron as me if you shut them out.”

“I’m not…” Steve started, struggling with how to say what he needed to in a way that Tony would understand.“Tony, I wake up every morning knowing that I don’t belong here.I decided a long time ago to spin it like…like I’ve been given another chance, that I’m here for a reason and I need to fulfill it.But I can’t be in the uniform all the time, and the best I can do out of uniform is fake it.And then I become nothing more than this…this persona, and I am just… _really_ exhausted.”

Tony looked away from the window, and his face slowly morphed into an expression of guilt.No doubt he was remembering the roughly ten million times he’d made fun of Steve to his face for being old-fashioned or just plain old, the overuse of terms like relic and fossil, the mocking of his difficulty adapting to modern _everything_.He always helped, eventually, but made sure that Steve knew how deficient he was for the struggle.

“You…you never _said…_ ”

“Should I have had to?”He looked at his painting, at the soft shape of the Milky Way.“When someone has a scar, they don’t need other people to tell them they have it to know it’s there.”

Tony sat down on the edge of the couch.He looked worse than Pepper.Steve would have felt bad for him if not for the fact that the year of endless reminders had hollowed him out one bloody scoop at a time, and now they were getting down to the bone.

“What do I do?” Tony asked, rigid with the sudden understanding of his own deficiencies.

“You let me be, and you tell people whatever the hell you want when they ask where I am and what I’m doing.”He didn’t want to, not really, but Steve sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder because he knew Tony did care about him in his own odd way.“You had your time to be messed up about dying.I want my time to be messed up about living.”

Tony blinked, swallowed hard once or twice, and then nodded.That he understood very well.

“Fine.But you need…you need a safety net, Steve.Someone who can pull you back when you sink a little too far, because it’ll happen.And you need to check in.”

“I’ve got people,” he murmured, thinking of James and Sam.“I’ll check in once a week.Text or in person.I swear.”

“And if there’s something Avengers-worthy?”

“I’ll show up unless you tell me not to.” 

“Okay,” Tony said.

“Okay,” Steve echoed.

“Steve, I’m—” 

“No,” he cut him off abruptly, and pointed at the door.

“But I want to say I’m s—”

“Don’t tell me.Show me.”He’d already forgiven Tony, but hell if he was going to let him off easy.Steve got up and walked toward the bathroom.He was in desperate need of a shower after all that running and he was 90% certain Tony wouldn’t follow him in there, not even to get in the coveted last word.“Goodbye, Tony.” 

 

 

Thursday morning he stepped out his door a little earlier than usual, and he wasn’t disappointed.Steve was leaning up against the parking meter just like last time, in running gear that didn’t leave much to the imagination.He was holding two iced coffees in a caddy in his right hand and something wrapped in brown paper in his left.

“Morning,” James said, trying not to be too obvious in his perusal of Steve’s muscles.“You gonna bring me coffee every day?”

“Maybe.”

“You know, I have a perfectly good coffee maker in my apartment.”

“You inviting me up?”

“That is really presumptuous of you, Steve,” he chided, not even close to meaning it.It was _all_ he wanted, to get Steve back in his apartment where he could…

“My apologies,” Steve said, and took a sip of his coffee before licking his lips.God damn it.He had forgotten that Steve knew how to flirt and apparently felt up to doing so today.There was still that edge to him, the unfocused energy, but it was happier, overall.

“All I’m saying is,” James recovered as he took his coffee, “let’s alternate.If this is on your running route, stop by, but let me make the coffee every other day.”

“Sounds good.But on the subject of your apartment, you should take this up there.”He held out the object swaddled in brown paper.

“What is it?” 

“Open it.”

Gift opening was one of those things you didn’t realize you needed two hands for until the moment arrived.James eased down to the stoop and clamped it between his knees, holding it steady so he could pull the paper away with his hand.When he was done a watercolor of the Milky Way over the darkened Houses of Parliament stared at him.

“You painted it,” he said, awestruck. 

Steve nodded, and the man who seconds before had been flirting actually looked _shy_. “It’s, um, not the greatest—”

“Steve, shut the fuck up.It’s brilliant.It’s beautiful.Just like the guy who painted it.”James set the painting on the stoop and then he stood up and kissed Steve silly.The coffee actually slipped from Steve’s hand, spilling over the pavement in a clatter of plastic and ice cubes.

“Shit,” he breathed against his lips.“I wanted that.”

_Oh, if you knew the things I want right now,_ James thought.Steve’s fingers pressed gently against his chest, and when he refocused Steve’s face was apologetically nervous.And why not, he had just kissed him in the great wide open, and Steve already knew it only took one jerk with a smartphone to turn the small moment of contentment into the cover of Us Weekly.He could have been insulted that Steve cared, but he knew it had nothing to do with how Steve felt about him and everything to do with how he felt about their mutual privacy.

James stepped back and put his keys in Steve’s hand.“Go up and make yourself another cup.And hang the painting wherever you think it looks best.”

He nodded, tongue nipping out to taste his lips once more.“What time should I meet you tonight?And where?”

“Seven, right here.”

“Your keys?”

“Hang on to them, I have a spare at work.”

Steve nodded.“Say hi to Snowflake for me.”

James smiled and took a sip of his coffee.Steve had remembered how he liked it.

“I will.”

 

 

 

STEVE: _Nick Furry was not impressed with the painting.Thought it needed more red._

 

The next message was a picture of the back of Steve’s hand torn half to shit by his deranged cat.

 

JAMES: _I’ll feed that little bastard to Snowflake_

STEVE: _I’m pretty sure Nick Furry would win that fight.Don’t worry, he’s fine as long as I don’t try to pet him.Lesson learned._

JAMES: _Ugh I should have warned you, I forgot._

STEVE: _You did tell me he was surly.This one’s on me._

 

 

 

By 7:00, there were no scratches on his hand.

 

 

 

James had taken care with the date, making sure it was somewhere dark and crowded enough that he would go unnoticed.After they’d eaten he dropped a notebook and some colored pencils on the table and told him it was about time he got started on his bucket list.James would write down his ideas and then Steve would illustrate them.They’d do a few on each date until Steve had a healthy list to work through. 

At first he struggled with what to put on there.He wasn’t lying when he told James he’d once been too poor to dream.Fantasize, sure.Fantasy was something you let your mind drift to when it needed escape; there were no boundaries, but there was also no hope of it ever becoming real.Dreaming was more dangerous, because contained within it the seed of possibility.

It was hard to break out of that mindset.But eventually something came to him - something his mother had dreamed of, that he could do in her honor.

He sketched from memory the grainy newsprint picture Sarah Rogers kept tacked to the wall in their kitchen until it yellowed and fell apart, and then he sketched her face.He had drawn her many times to practice his skills, and as the sketches got better and better he saw more and more of her - of everyone he drew. Sometimes he forgot how beautiful she was, and how much he took after her.

 

  1. Christ the Redeemer, Rio de Janeiro 



 

 

By 10:30, they were back at the apartment, full and warm and laughing.Steve knew they had, in so many words, agreed to slow things down, but something told him they weren’t going to have much luck on that front.James was gorgeous in so many ways, and being around him was easy, an effortlessness he had not felt since…

Bucky.

He had been adrift and confused in D.C. and James cared enough not to let him proceed in that state.He cared enough now to hesitate when the laughter and conversation faded and the moment grew thick with sexual tension.Steve was still adrift and confused, but not when it came to this - to him.Steve moved forward, bringing their hips flush and their mouths together.After that Steve lost most of his capacity to think, so great was the roar of want, but James managed to surface from the drowning force of their kisses to check on him one last time.

“You sure?” he whispered, breathless, pupils wide.

He was sure.

“Just…slow.” 

In another minute they were on the couch, James straddling him as they kissed and necked one another into insanity.His weight was pleasant on Steve’s lap, his lips more than pleasant at the spot where his earlobe met his neck.Steve had kissed a fair few people since thawing out, it was true, but none of them had gotten him this riled up.It was because _they_ were kissing Captain America; James was kissing Steve.

His hands shook a bit as he slipped the buttons on James’s shirt.His skin was soft and fit to scald, burning against his fingertips.Steve flicked a thumb over his nipple and James hissed air through his teeth, hips jerking.A moment later James pulled back and grasped the neck of the shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth move.

“I should let you know, before we go on,” James said, his tone playful as he gazed at him under his dark eyelashes, “that I’m missing an arm.”

“Oh,” Steve said, affection flaring bright in his chest.“Well, I’m missing seventy years, so I guess that makes us about even.”And he meant it as a joke, but it wasn’t, and James’s eyes reflected that.

“Not even close,” he said softly, and then he leaned down to kiss Steve senseless.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only warnings here are for some mentions of drug use and for sexual content.

WEEK 1

 

STEVE: _Checking in._

TONY: _How are you?_

STEVE: _Here._

STEVE: _Do you have a bucket list?_

TONY: _No.I hate thinking about dying, thought I made that clear._

STEVE: _But doesn’t a sense of mortality make things more…I don’t know, impactful?_

TONY: _Are you high?_

STEVE: _No._

TONY: … _have you ever been high?_

STEVE: _Tony, I had asthma in the 1920s and 30s._

TONY: _And?_

STEVE: _Ever heard of benzedrine?_

TONY: _Wait, seriously? You had amphetamine inhalers?_

STEVE: _Yes, and they worked.So did cocaine, on toothaches.And heroin, when I had pleurisy.Knocked the pain right out, way cheaper than morphine and damn easy to get.Still damn easy to get, from what I understand._

TONY: _Oh my god._

STEVE: _I was sick, poor, and in pain most of my life.You do what you have to._

TONY: _Jesus, Steve._

TONY: _I’m no saint, but please, please don’t do any of that.It’s so easy to get hooked or dead._

STEVE: _I’m not doing anything._

STEVE: _None of it works now, anyway._

TONY: _How can you know that if you haven’t tried?_

STEVE: _Never said I hadn’t tried._

TONY: _I am literally going to burst into flames for saying this but PLEASE tell me you are seeing some kind of professional head-shrinker type person_

STEVE: _I have an appointment tomorrow._

TONY: _You are really, really worrying me._

STEVE: _Why can’t you talk to me like this in person?_

TONY: _Because I’m a terrible, selfish human being._

STEVE: _Oh, so you admit it?_

TONY: _Asshole._

STEVE: _Takes one to know one._

TONY: _What is this, 5th grade?_

STEVE: _I missed most of 5th grade because of scarlet fever._

TONY: _I hate you._

 

 

 

It bothered him, how Tony thought vices were purely modern things.That was why he had to set him straight.Drugs that people used recreationally now had been lifesavers in his youth, although he knew very well that even then, people abused them.Bucky had made sure he didn’t fall down that rabbit hole.

The benzedrine and cocaine he didn’t like, because they set his already bad heart to racing and skipping.Better a skipping heart than closed lungs or the crushing pain of a toothache, though.The heroin, on the other hand…

He was always in pain, whether it was from the scoliosis or his abominable tendency to develop pleurisy.Of the two the pleurisy was worse.There was no way to tolerate the feeling of sandpaper scraping the inside of his chest with every breath.When his mother was alive they could afford morphine.But then she wasn’t, and he didn’t magically stop getting pleurisy, so another solution had to be found.

When it got bad Bucky would take him out to Harlem so he could get what he needed.He refused to let Bucky do the buying; he was better than that and he had a job he needed to keep.Bucky refused to let him go alone, fearful that he’d get robbed or beat up or worse.So he stood in a dark corner like Steve’s bodyguard and let Steve feel like he was in charge even though he was in so much pain that he could barely stand up straight. 

It went like that five winters in a row.If not for Bucky’s watchful gaze, he would almost certainly have become addicted to the easy relief of it, or given himself way too much one day when he couldn’t stand the pain anymore.Probably 1942, if he had never met Abraham Erskine and had to face the winter without Bucky.If not then, definitely when he got that letter that Bucky was killed in action.That pain would have been insurmountable.

He knew, because it was.

After waking up, and especially after New York, it was like he had pleurisy of the soul.His body was perfect, his health ideal, but he hurt so goddamn _much_.Sure, he’d taken some nasty hits in the battle and they were more than happy to give him a little dilaudid for a week or two, but it barely took the edge off, and the doctors were, rightfully, stingy with their prescriptions.They certainly weren’t going to give him drugs when nothing physical existed to cause his everyday agony.

He tried everything _.Everything_.It was hideously easy to pay someone to buy whatever he wanted, no faces seen or questions asked.Just money changing hands.Marijuana, oxycodone, percocet, toradol, tramadol, fentanyl, morphine, heroin, methadone, suboxone, gabapentin, ketamine - none of it worked for more than twenty or thirty minutes, if it worked at all.He knew better than to keep raising the dosage.He wanted _relief_ , not oblivion.

It was around that time that he realized it was mental.A little internet research proved that depression could cause pain and God only knew what his post-serum brain and neurotransmitters were doing, that he felt the way he did.He tried three antidepressants with no better luck than the painkillers.They sure as hell gave him dry mouth and insomnia, but they didn’t solve the problem they were meant to, so he gave up. 

The only thing left was to give in to the big media machine.He flung himself head-on into a schedule that kept him so busy he didn’t have time to think.He hated it - the constant march in the spotlight, the never-ending buzz or beep of his phone - it was the USO tour all over again.But it kept him too distracted and too tired to feel the hurt, and it made it really easy to meet people. 

Only one other thing was strong enough to make him forget: sex.Not indiscriminate, but definitely not as discriminate as he should have been, if his recent debacles were any indication.However fleeting it was, it was easy to find and he didn’t need to acquire it illegally.And he certainly wouldn’t die if he had a little too much of it. 

So the work, the galas, the fundraisers, the appearances, the dates, the sex - that was what he had been doing for the last eight months to keep the pain at bay.He wasn’t kidding when he told Tony he was exhausted.Until now, he hadn’t been courageous enough to let things catch up to him.Until now, no one had seen through it all. 

Strange, what could happen in a few weeks.Now he was doing next to nothing and sometimes the hours flew by in the haze of art or the glow of James’s company, and sometimes the hours dragged like molasses sliding down the side of an almost-empty jar, filling his head and his body with what could only be described as madness.He had never really understood the phenomenon of cutting, which he’d learned about on Clint’s awful Intervention show, but in those moments he considered it.At least it was something to do, something active and in his control.And he would heal before anyone knew.But he had promised Pepper that he wouldn’t, so he didn’t.

A woman’s voice calling his name pulled him back to the moment.Steve nodded at the barista and gathered up two iced coffees and a cinnamon roll the size of his head.Today, he and James were going up to the Bronx Zoo to check on what would be Snowflake’s new home.He wasn’t sure if it counted as a date or not.Didn’t really matter, though.Anytime he was with James it sped him up or slowed him down to the pace of normal people, and he was guaranteed smiles and laughter even if it sometimes felt like there were weights on the muscles of his face.

He mind drifted to Peggy as he sat on the 5 train with James leaned up against him.In the simplicity of a subway ride spent playfully pretending he didn’t want to share the cinnamon roll and James getting bite after bite anyway, he realized something.

All Peggy wanted was to remember, and all he wanted was to forget.

 

 

 

WEEK 2

 

SAM: _How are things going with Rosalind?_

STEVE: _Good._

STEVE: _Sam…don’t take this the wrong way, but…do you talk to each other about me?_

SAM: _Absolutely not.Confidentiality is everything, I would never breach that.And she’ll tell anyone who might try to go to hell._

STEVE: _She seems really nice.It’s just hard for me to open up.I don’t even know where to start._

SAM: _Start with whatever is on your mind in that minute, that hour, that day.She’ll know how to get you through the maze._

STEVE: _How do you know her?_

SAM: _Actually, she was my therapist._

STEVE: _Therapists go to therapy?_

SAM: _Well, yeah.Even if you know how to help other people, it’s hard to be rational and objective about your own problems because you feel all the emotions that go with them._

STEVE: _That makes sense._

SAM: _She helped me through a really tough time.My pararescue partner Riley died.Got hit during a mission and all I could do was watch him go down.He was my best friend._

STEVE: _I know what that’s like._

STEVE: _I’m so sorry, Sam._

 

 

For twenty minutes Steve couldn’t look at the screen because he was crying so hard that everything blurred together.He could feel Sam’s pain, feel it because he’d lived it, sometimes still lived it at night in his dreams.An outstretched hand and a long drop—

He made a frustrated sound and raked his arm across his cheeks.

 

STEVE: _Does it ever get better?_

SAM: _Yeah, Steve.It does.I still have moments where I miss him so bad it physically hurts, but I’m not stuck anymore._

 

 

Two days later, after not one minute of sleep in said two days, Steve sat down in the comfortable blue chair in Rosalind’s office and looked her straight in the face and said:

“Sometimes I can’t sleep because I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll wake up and seventy more years will have passed and people will just be brains in jars.”

 

 

 

WEEK 3

 

James had taken his request to go slow very seriously.They had been on five dates now, and every one of them had ended with their chemistry boiling over.But that didn’t mean they jumped straight to fucking.James seemed intent to map every inch of him, find every spot that made him squirm.No one had really taken the time, least of all _him_ , and Steve was surprised to discover how many places on his body could excite, with the right treatment.

James showed him, in an escalating dance of intimacy.There were roaming hands, deliberate lips, tongues on the backs of knees and thighs, the simple pleasure of spooning after an hour of inspired kissing.The build of anticipation was nice.It gave him something to look forward to, something to daydream about.He didn’t have to chase the fleeting escape of no-strings.James could distract him for hours.He could tell that the constant self-control was wearing on James - that he wanted more - but he never pushed and never forgot to make sure Steve was okay with whatever they were doing. 

This time, they went bowling, of all things.It was cosmic bowling, so it was dark and nobody recognized him under the blacklights.In the first few robotic frames of the game, Steve realized he had completely forgotten how to have fun.His guard was always up, _always_ , but it was only outside the setting of a restaurant or bar that he understood how much that unbearable tension interfered with his ability to let go and just live.James could see it, even in the darkness.So he started trash-talking.Outrageously.

Steve and his various features and relations had never been insulted so thoroughly.Well, maybe they had, but it had been _years,_ years since Bucky verbally savaged him like this, and usually they were both laughing so hard by the end of it that they had to clutch their bellies and wipe tears from their cheeks.With that memory warming him and unlocking the knots in his shoulders, Steve soon found his tongue and gave it right back.Even though he was, as it turned out, pretty fucking awful at bowling, he had a damn good time losing to James.So good a time that he kissed him right there, under the blacklights and the corny neon decorations, long and deep until the group of teenagers one lane over began whistling.

It wasn’t dark enough for those kids not to realize the people kissing next to them were both men.He spent the subway ride home unable to sit still, ready to burst with something he couldn’t begin to define.Once they got inside the apartment James started to ask him if he was all right.Steve’s response was to back him up against the sink, drop to his knees, kiss his way hotly down his belly, and unzip his jeans.He wanted this, wanted it so bad, to make James feel good, to give him even half of what he’d already given Steve.

“Steve, you don’t have to—” he choked out.His cock nearly slapped Steve in the face when he freed it and James groaned with the dismay of someone who really, really wanted something he shouldn’t have.Steve grinned and licked him slowly from root to tip, tongue swirling around the head, and James full-body shuddered.

“Bucket list number twelve,” Steve said, lips brushing him with every word.“Give James a blowjob.”

“That is - _oh -_ not on your fucking _list!”_  

Steve eased off his cock with a wet, indecent smack of lips.“You are _definitely_ on my fucking list.”And then he returned to task, sucking him down until he couldn't breathe and he had to fight his gag reflex.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” James gasped.Steve could feel him throbbing hotly against his tongue as he worked up and down his shaft.James’s hand wound into his hair and clutched, giving the slightest pressure.“I’ve created a monster,” he groaned.

_No, no, the government and a mad scientist did that._

And no, fuck you, brain, he was _not_ going to let anything steal him away from this.Steve focused on the taste and smell of him, the panting breaths and quiet little moans James let out.This was a good night and a good man and he needed to be able to let go like he had earlier.

So much of the sex, up until now, had been about _him_.About the rush of endorphins, the brief numbness, the separation from himself.But this, this was about giving pleasure instead of receiving it, and deriving that same high.He remembered it.He remembered it so well, and he could do it again.He _would._

He paused to suck his middle finger into his mouth.James watched him with hooded eyes.He shivered as Steve released his spit-slicked finger and slid it behind his balls to tease his perineum, and then slowly eased inside him. His breath became ragged as Steve started a gentle rhythm.It didn’t take long to find the spot; he knew he had it when James jerked like he’d been shocked and he whimpered.

Perfect. 

Steve tortured his prostate until James could barely form words.Only then did he reapply his mouth to his cock, reveling in the taste of him.Pleasure began to pool in his belly.There, _there_ it was, the heavy throb of arousal spurred by the knowledge that he was pleasing his partner.He moaned around his mouthful, feeling the strangling hands of anxiety and sadness easing away.James was close, so close, his knees beginning to buckle under the combined onslaught.Steve hollowed his cheeks in, pressed relentlessly at that spot inside him, and in a few more seconds James broke apart.He _screamed_ when he came, really screamed in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but sexual pleasure. 

It took Steve by surprise.It was incredibly hot, his name echoing off the walls, the sharp taste of semen in his mouth, but it made his heart race with an old fear he still hadn’t mastered.Just like that, the remembrance of what happened to people who weren’t careful enough derailed him, even though rationally he _knew_ it wasn’t like that anymore.Just like that, the grasping fingers were back around his neck.

James saw it like he saw everything else, and he gathered him up and kissed him sweetly until the tremor went out of his hands. 

 

 

 

He couldn’t sleep, but he pretended to for James’s sake.After a few hours of listening to him breathe he felt restless and he had to go.He got up and went straight for the bike. 

It was only at this time that he could escape the city and really open the throttle.He was going too fast, he knew he was, but the wind felt good and it tore the tears away from his face as if they had never fallen.By some miracle he made it up 87 and 287 without being pulled over.

He stopped on the approach to the Tappan Zee and just stared.It was lit up, and so was the lighthouse.That was Sleepy Hollow if he wasn’t mistaken.His lips twisted.The author who had penned the tale of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman had also written about Rip Van Winkle.He had known the story before but if he had to hear himself compared to a lazy Dutch farmer even one more time, he would well and truly lose it.Even as he thought it, Steve sighed with envy for his fictional counterpart.That asshole had only slept for twenty years.

Overtired mental ramblings aside, it was pretty up here.Steve wished he had brought something to draw with.Sometimes he was able to commit something to memory and draw it later, so he tried to catalogue details now; the shape and geometry of the bridge, the reflection of the lights on the Hudson, the string of dim houses among the hills on each shore.He could draw it later.Paint it, maybe, for James.

As he stood leaned against the bike, a police car pulled up.Steve realized then that maybe loitering next to a bridge in the middle of the night in the state of New York wasn’t the best thing to do, not after 9/11.But the policeman that approached was relaxed, non-confrontational.

“You all right, sir?” he asked.He was older, in his fifties, the kind of cop that would look strange out of uniform but wasn’t particularly comfortable in it.

“Yes,” Steve said.“Thanks.” 

The policeman drew even with him.“Pretty, isn’t it?”

He nodded.The other man was watching him closely, and Steve knew that he recognized him.

“I got a call,” he said, “a guy saying his friend hasn’t been in the greatest mental state lately, and that said friend was parked on the Tappan Zee Bridge right now.”

Ah.Steve knew exactly who that friend was.

“That so?” he murmured.

“He was pretty concerned, so I figured I’d come out here.”The cop cracked a smile.“He seemed to think it wouldn’t be so well received if he came himself.”

“He was probably right,” Steve agreed mildly.

They stood in silence.Steve wondered how many people this man had talked off the bridge in his career. 

“You know,” the cop said, “my buddy Paul, he was never the same after he came back from Vietnam.”

“War changes you.”A note of bitterness crept into Steve’s voice.“People shouldn’t expect you to be the same.” He had learned that in the hardest way possible, but he couldn’t think about that now, or he might actually be tempted to take a swan dive off the bridge.

“Yeah,” the other man allowed, “yeah, that’s true.But there’s help now.Paul, he couldn’t get help then, so he looked for it in a bottle and he’s been gone ten years now from esophageal cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s better to get help than be sorry.There ain’t no shame in it.”

“I’m not here to jump,” Steve said softly.

“Then what are you here for?”

He sighed.“Fuck if I know.”

The policeman chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder with a warm hand.

“You’re all right, kid.Now scram.”

Steve reached for his helmet.

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

He wasn’t as lucky on the Palisades going home.He got pulled over doing 92 in a 65.The bike shouldn’t even have been able to achieve such speeds, but Tony did like to tinker when people weren’t looking.

The first cop didn’t recognize him and Steven Rogers was a damn common name.He must not have even looked at the birthdate, or thought it said 78 instead of 18 as people often did.The rookie had him walking lines and doing finger to nose.He was visibly put out by Steve’s 0.00 breathalyzer.He was less put out by the weapons Steve routinely forgot to take out of the saddlebags.It was when his backup arrived and connected Steve’s face with his license and gun permits that the first cop realized who he’d been grilling.

And from there, they assumed he was rushing somewhere on SHIELD business and, with profuse apologies, promptly left him alone. 

 

 

TONY: _Steve?_

TONY: _Steve._

TONY: _STEVE!_

 

 

 

STEVE: _How are you tracking me_

 

 

 

TONY: _Your motorcycle._

STEVE: _Where_

TONY: _Steve…_

STEVE: _WHERE_

TONY: _Under the front fender._

TONY: _Steve, I know you’re feeling low and you were parked on a fucking bridge in the middle of the night!What was I supposed to think?_

STEVE: _That I would tell you if I felt that low._

TONY: _Would you?_

STEVE: _Yeah, I would._

TONY: _You didn’t even tell me my stupid jokes were bothering you, why the hell would you tell me you were thinking about jumping off a bridge?_

STEVE: _I’m not thinking about jumping off a bridge, but you know what MIGHT make me think about it?Not being left alone the way I asked.I can’t do it, Tony, I can’t._

TONY: _What is the big deal?I just want to look out for you, that’s all!_

STEVE: _You WANT people to have eyes on you all the time.I don’t._

TONY: _That’s not true._

STEVE: _What else do you have bugged_

TONY: _Nothing._

STEVE: _Stop lying to me_

TONY: _I’m not!_

STEVE: _You are._

 

 

 

He smelled coffee.James stretched, making sure to lift what remained of his left arm up as far as he could; a frozen shoulder hurt whether it was a shoulder you used or not.He wasn’t surprised that he was alone in the bed.Steve always seemed to be awake before him.

Steve had a complicated relationship with sleep, _if_ he slept; James had learned that fast.There were nightmares sometimes, nightmares that he flat-out refused to talk about.Even when his sleep was untroubled, any little thing would wake him, make him sit straight up and reach reflexively for something.Probably the shield.It was like he was still at war.In those moments James would reach for him and give him a gentle touch, and after a few seconds Steve would ease down and drop right back into sleep. 

Last night Steve hadn’t stirred, which meant he hadn’t slept.James chewed his lip.He knew as soon as Steve rose to his feet after the blowjob last night that something was wrong.The brain-melting aftereffects of his orgasm rendered James neither eloquent nor sensible enough to inquire.He’d done his best to comfort him and Steve had calmed, but not enough to let him return the favor.Steve looked and sounded like he had enjoyed it in the moment, but if he regretted what they’d done…

But he was here, and he was making coffee, and humming to himself in the kitchen.That wasn’t the behavior of someone who regretted the night before.With a deep breath, James pulled himself out of bed and padded out to the kitchen.

“Morning,” Steve said.He was at the small table with an empty coffee cup.He’d sketched all over the back of a paper towel in green pen - a man in Ren Faire clothing asleep in what looked like a cave.

“Hi,” James replied.

He pointed.“Coffee.”

“Thanks.”James was unsure how exactly to proceed, so he poured himself a cup in the hopes that routine would yield an opening.But as it turned out, he didn’t need to broach the subject because Steve did a second later.

“I’m sorry I was weird last night.”

“You weren’t weird.”

“I was.”

James sat down in the other chair and took a sip of coffee.Steve made a good cuppa - Chock Full o’Nuts or Maxwell House, of course.He had yet to decipher what the choice of brew meant for the day, but today he went with Maxwell House. 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Steve’s face showed his debate.He didn’t, but he knew he should.James waited while Steve fidgeted.

“It’s just,” he started, looking anywhere but at James, “back in the day, if you got…if you got a little too spirited and people heard you while you were going at it…”

James felt his face heat up.He had not meant to be so loud last night but Steve’s sudden sexual aggression and obvious skill combined with the frustration of holding back the past four weeks had made him fall apart.That orgasm ripped out of him with a force he couldn’t ever recall feeling before.And that was just a blowjob.Well, with a side of those long, strong, talented fingers.James tore his eyes away from Steve’s hand, which was currently clicking the cap of the green pen in a nervous rhythm.

“I’m not usually—” James started.

“Wait, let me finish.If you were loud maybe you’d get lucky and your neighbors would think you were with a dame and not make anything of it.But if they knew you had a man in there, if anyone had seen you or even suspected maybe you were queer and they heard you, it was…”At last his eyes settled on James, and they were haunted.“People were killed.Beaten almost to death.Thrown in jail or facilities for the insane.You just…you couldn’t risk it.You had to make noise, you did it into a pillow or some clothes or your arm, or you just held it in.”

“I…I’ve never had to think about it,” James said, aware of how lucky he was, even though things were still far from perfect for gay men and women.

“And I am so, so happy for that,” Steve replied, reaching out to touch his wrist.“I know it’s not like that now.I know.But I had to be careful for so long…it’s a hard habit to break.”He worried his bottom lip between his teeth.“I guess I just really like you and wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, so it scared me.” 

And there it was, that funny feeling in his chest again, same as when Steve had first shown up for coffee.He twined his fingers into Steve’s.

“I’ll try to keep it down.”

Steve shook his head.“I don’t want you to keep it down.I want you to be as loud as you want.But you should know, if I’m quiet, it isn’t because I don’t like what you’re doing.Or what _I’m_ doing.”

“I don’t want to scare you every time we…”

“You won’t,” Steve said with conviction.“I’m ready for it now.”

He looked at Steve, searched his eyes, tried to puzzle out if he was imagining the tone in his voice.He wasn’t.He was ready for it _now_.And dear lord, so was James.

He was out of his chair and into Steve’s lap in the next breath.His lips were met eagerly with the same ones that pressed open-mouthed against his belly last night, same bludgeon of intent.Steve kissed him with pornographic fervor, hands sliding up his back.Fire curled in his belly.He was gasping for air when Steve sucked a hard mark into his throat. 

A yelp escaped him a second later when Steve’s hands hooked under his thighs and he stood up in one move, lifting him like he weighed nothing.To Steve, he _did_ weigh nothing.It was unexpectedly hot to be held like that, and he couldn’t help but squirm against him, needing friction.He felt Steve’s lips curl into a smile against his neck.

It was new but not unwelcome to be _carried_ to his bedroom.Steve deposited him on the bed and then pulled his shirt over his head, and _God_ , he might never get used to that body of his, carved and smooth and perfect.And it just kept going.He slid out of his shorts and there was no doubt that he was ready.His erection curved up toward his belly, thick and heavy.And those thighs - they could and _would_ power him through some long nights if James had any say in it.

It was too tempting, Steve standing there naked at the foot of the bed.James rolled off his back and crept forward.It wasn’t graceful with three limbs, but it felt like it didn’t matter to Steve - had never mattered - and he felt no self-consciousness.Steve’s eyes tracked him, sparking with heat and then closing when James reached the edge and slowly lowered his mouth to his cock.It took a bit of trial and error to find a position that was both comfortable and sustainable, but Steve was happy to help by stepping forward and angling his body.In no time they found an easy rhythm, Steve thrusting shallowly into his mouth, hand cradling the back of his head. 

Times like these, he missed having a second arm.He would have liked to be able to touch Steve, use his hand and mouth at the same time.He knew from the support groups that there were all sorts of strange looking pillows and bolsters for such things, but he’d never seriously considered buying one; he was going to have to rethink that.Because whatever he could do to make Steve feel good, he wanted to do.

And Steve _was_ quiet, but James could feel his pleasure in all his senses: the pitched sound of his breathing, the light pressure of his nails and fingertips against his scalp, the heady scent of him, the sharp, salty taste of precum on his tongue.And he watched, staring down at James, lips parted, until it became too much for him and he stepped back.

James licked his lips, braindead at the sight of him all pink and relaxed with arousal.He had not realized how tense Steve usually was; there was give in him now that unpinned his shoulders from his ears and pulled his eyes from the sight-lines.Steve poured himself onto the bed and turned onto his back, right knee bent and casually splayed out.Open. 

Message received.James struggled out of his boxer briefs and climbed on top, momentarily dizzy with the thrill of finally being here with neither clothes nor nerves between them.Steve radiated heat.It felt so good that he couldn’t resist grinding their hips together in a slow, lazy rut as he leaned down to kiss him.Steve released a low moan into his mouth and he treasured it, that little bit of noise he couldn’t control.

He wanted to take his time with Steve, wind him up and break him down.But he himself was too far gone for that; he wouldn’t last, and he wasn’t alone.So much skin pressed together - so much _stimulation -_ was making Steve’s pulse jump fast in the long expanse of his neck when he tilted it back.He was restless, hips rising to meet his tormenter, and if James had ever seen anything more beautiful he couldn’t recall just now what it was.He wondered if Steve _felt_ things differently, if his receptors and nerve endings were wired into something entirely new.James planted his hand next to Steve’s left temple and looked him in the eyes as his rolled his hips, gritting his teeth against his own pleasure. 

His muscles burned with the effort; like this, he was more or less planking with one less limb than most.Steve saw it and put a hand against his ribs to be his other arm.No one had ever done that for him before.Suddenly James felt like _air,_ like he could go forever.

He knew when Steve got close.His breathing grew harsh and the muscles of his face pulled into an expression that could fuel James’s fantasies for months.His free hand slid down to grab James’s ass and he turned his head suddenly, needing something to bite down on.James felt teeth on his wrist.A few seconds later Steve came with a stifled sound, spurting warmly between them.

And if that wasn’t hot enough - that little spike of pain, the way Steve’s body trembled -Steve moved his hand while still in the last throes of it and took hold of James’s cock to stroke.His eyes locked back on James as his tongue soothed the skin he had bitten, and then he moved his lips against the sore spot to blow a trickle of breath over it.James shivered from his head to his toes, pleasure ballooning, and in three more strokes of Steve’s hand, he followed him over the edge with a shout.

It could have been an hour later when he opened his eyes, for all he knew.Steve didn’t look scared.He looked dazed.Content.Tired.James laid there half on top of him, more unwilling than unable to move, because fuck. _Fuck._ They had done so little, and it was already so good.Steve didn’t seem to be the least bit uncomfortable, so James stayed right where he was.

The next time he opened his eyes, Steve was asleep, and he was late for work. 

 

 

 

He was tired but he tried to stay awake, because the post-coital contentment _stayed_.It didn’t desert him in the time it took for the semen to cool, like it had with people who weren’t James.It curled around him as surely as James did, whispered across his nerves like his warm puffs of breath, which took a long time to slow.

Steve slept like he had not since D.C., deep and boundless, and when he woke up he still felt good.At least until he looked at his phone.

 

TONY: _Um.I would maybe check those blue and green sneakers that you have._

STEVE: _Also known as my favorite running shoes?_

TONY: _Oh, are they?_

 

 

 

Steve checked _all_ of his shoes.Three of them had trackers.Two were Tony’s, but the third…

 

STEVE: _Did you put a tracking device in my damn dress shoes_

MARIA: _Yes_

STEVE: _Did Nick make you do it_

MARIA: _He asked me to._

STEVE: _And you just agreed?_

MARIA: _If something happens to you when you’re out at an event we need to be able to track you._

STEVE: _What on earth do you think is going to happen to me?_

MARIA: _I don’t know, Steve.I don’t know._

STEVE: _Well you don’t have to worry, I won’t be at any events for a while._

MARIA: _You know I’m here for you, right?Anything you need, just ask._

STEVE: _All I need is for you to say no to Nick, next time_ ** _he_** _asks._

 

There would be a next time; Steve was sure of it.Maria took a long time to respond.

 

MARIA: _I don’t know if I can, without losing my job._

STEVE: _He won’t fire you.You’re the only person he actually likes._

STEVE: _He wants me tracked, he can do it himself.There’s no need to involve you.And if he has information on some plot to make me disappear, maybe he should tell ME about it so I can be on alert._

MARIA: _There’s nothing that I’m aware of.But you know how he is.Wants to be prepared for every possibility._

STEVE: _I can tell you from personal experience that there is always something you don’t think of._

STEVE: _The only event I’m doing in the foreseeable future is the Memorial Day speech.That’s the only one I didn’t cancel.If he’s so concerned, tell him to be there.I will be wearing new dress shoes._

MARIA: _I’m sorry, Steve._

STEVE: _I know._

 

 

 

TONY: _Hey, how was that Jamaican place in the Bronx?_

STEVE: _Fuck you._

 

 

 

STEVE: _It was delicious._

 

 

 

WEEK 5

 

“I hope they’re feeding her the right things,” James fretted as he met him outside.Snowflake had been transferred to the Bronx Zoo and even though they were just up there, James wanted to see for himself how she was adjusting.“Think they’ll figure out she likes chicken?”

“I’m sure they will,” Steve said as they began their walk to the subway.“James, you really need to go to vet school.”

“I mean, I think about it sometimes,” he shrugged.“Even if I couldn’t do the heavy duty stuff I could do research.But I told you, I don’t have the money.My medical bills would make your head explode.I reached the lifetime maximum of my insurance in, like, two surgeries.”

“Did you get anything from the Victims Compensation Fund?” 

James stopped dead in his tracks.“The _what?_ ”

“The Battle of New York Victims Compensation Fund.”

 

 

 

Steve wasn’t looking at him when he said it.James felt his heart stutter with sudden fear.He knew for a fact he had never told Steve he effectively lost his arm in the Battle of New York; he hadn’t even mentioned a time frame that Steve might be able to deduce from.The only way he could know was if he _remembered._

“I…I didn’t even know that existed.”

“FEMA got so many donations that they created a separate charitable organization.Anyone who was injured in the Battle is eligible for something.I don’t know how much, but it might help with your bills.”

“But it’s been…”

“One year, two months, eleven days?” Steve supplied, head cocked to the side.

James swallowed hard.“Yeah.”

“I think as long as there’s money available, you can still apply.And there should be, they passed a three year federal allocation.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

“I did a commercial and six speeches.Had it all memorized by the fourth time around.Pretty sure they played that commercial on New York 1 and NBC for two months straight.I’m surprised you never saw it.”

James looked up to the sky and shook his head.“I was in the hospital for two months and rehab after that.You know how much they charge for television per day?I had it for a week and I was high on pain meds or delirious most of that week, and when I realized I’d spent 70 bucks on TV I didn’t watch I turned it off and just streamed things on wifi.”

“A social worker probably should have mentioned it to you.”

“They might have.I just…” he shook his head again.It was so much, back then.So much.The pain, the drugs, the knowledge that his life was forever altered - James didn’t think he absorbed half of what _anyone_ said to him.A social worker could have told him about it, even given him paperwork, but he still hadn’t opened the folder of papers that left the hospital with him.

You could handle something like what he’d been through one event at a time.One ten minute PCA increment, one four hour pain medicine window, one meal, one nursing shift, one day, one surgery at a time.But when it was all collected in one folder, everything boiled down to a single looming behemoth, it threatened sanity.And once he got home he tried his damnedest to think about anything but the things that were behind him.There was plenty of challenge to be had going forward.He needed every bit of energy he could scrape up just to get through the day.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” he said.“I didn’t mean to keep anything from you.I was…I was afraid you’d think it was hero worship and not take me seriously.Or that I was in it for the wrong reason.”

“I don’t think either of those things,” he said.He stepped closer, erasing the distance between them.

“When did you know?”

“A few days ago.I passed by that subway entrance and it just hit me.”A fond, slightly amazed smiled spread across his face.“Your eyes.”

 

 

 

It was more his eyes than the subway, but he didn’t need to know that his fuck-me eyes were disturbingly similar to his trying-not-to-die eyes.Less in emotional content than pure focus and tenacity, though.James liked eye contact during sex and Steve liked to give it to him.It had taken a few episodes of deja-vu while he thrust feverishly into him for Steve to understand that he _had_ been here before, in very different circumstances.

James glanced around.He’d taken to doing that when they were out in public, checking to see if it was safe to show affection.It warmed Steve’s heart even though he was still resentful that they had to worry at all.

Right now the street was calm, nobody nearby.James stepped into his space and tipped the brim of his baseball cap up so he could kiss him.It was achingly tender and it filled Steve’s head with white noise.

“I’ve been wanting to thank you properly for saving my life,” James murmured, and kissed him again.

In all likelihood, it was the complete absence of blood in his brain that made Steve say:

“Thank me by fucking me later.”

James leaned back and looked at him with an appraising eye.He wasn’t surprised; he was checking to see if Steve was serious.For as slow as they had taken it initially, once they both knew how good they could make each other feel, it was a quick jump to sex every day, sometimes two or three times a day, in whatever permutations they felt like.But so far, those permutations had never once included Steve as the bottom. 

James knew he did it.Had to, because he knew about Ben.He never said anything, first because he certainly had no objection to being fucked by Steve, and second, because he probably assumed Steve was very damaged by his last experience.He wasn’t entirely wrong about that. 

Most of the people he’d slept with since waking up had wanted him to be on top.That was fine, he didn’t mind, but it was new.Bucky had always been on top and there was never anyone else, at least no one he’d ever gotten that far with.Steve wasn’t ashamed to want that, never had been.It felt good.It felt treasured.Sometimes it felt powerful and sometimes not and he needed both.He thought he’d finally found that feeling again with Ben…but that was a lesson in just how wrong he could be.

So he didn’t ask James to fuck him, even though he wanted it.Wanted it so bad his body sometimes refused to quiet when they were done.But he was the one who could come without going soft, not James, and by the time James was ready for round two Steve lost his nerve. 

_Leave it to you, Steve, to ask for it out in the middle of the street like some sex fiend,_ Bucky would have said, smiling all the while with the smugness of a man happy to give it to him in the middle of the street if it wouldn’t've gotten their heads bashed in.He missed him so much.

“How about,” James said against his ear, “I thank you by fucking you now _and_ later?”

And yes, yes, that would be just fine.

 

 

 

They never made it to the zoo.Just about the only thing that could distract James from the creatures that made up his livelihood was being balls-deep in Steve’s ass, Steve on his belly with his left thigh hiked up, the slight rise of his pelvis counterbalancing James so he could thrust with abandon.Steve took him easily, beautifully, and he came the same way, shaking, his t-shirt in his mouth, sweating with the exertion and the effort of keeping quiet. 

 

 

WEEK 6

 

 

“You went off script.”

Steve glanced up at Nick.It was the first time he’d seen him since leaving work the Friday before he met James.He was a sharp dresser, in general, but he looked extra expensive and forbidding tonight.

“That a problem?”

“No,” Nick said, and in a rare display of sincerity, “you did good, Cap.”

“Thanks.”

Steve took a sip of his drink.Gin and tonic, Beefeater, Peggy’s favorite.He’d just returned from visiting her.On a long, placid walk (or wheel, in her case) through the manicured grounds of her facility, he told her everything. _I’m fucked up in the head, so fucked up, and I’m in therapy and I think it’s helping but I don’t know if I’ll ever stop having things to talk about.How am I supposed to move forward, Pegs, when backwards is a million fishhooks in my skin and I have to pull them out one by one?And I met someone amazing, you’d like him, he reminds me of Bucky a little, his name is James, too.And I don't want to screw this up, I don’t, please tell me I can do it right just this once._

She wouldn’t remember any of it next time, but that didn’t erase the significance of her keen eyes and insightful comments in the moment, and the unchanged, bone-deep trust that never failed to soothe him.

“Are you ever coming back to work?” Nick asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he answered, “and I don’t need you pressuring me.”

Nick sighed, and the suffering in it was only half embellished.Steve knew that he had come to exert a kind of calming, organizational force on the many personalities that made up the Avengers.Especially Tony.Without him, the circus fell to Nick, and he had not half the patience Steve did.

“Nice shoes,” he said at last, all bitter lemons.

“Do you like them?” Steve said, smiling down at the polished leather.“They’re new.”

 

 

 

 

It was all they could talk about on the news.James listened with a critical ear as he bottle fed some kittens.If people found a way to have a problem with what Steve had said, he would fight them.

 

“In his first public appearance in nearly two months, Captain Steven Rogers, better known to us as Captain America, gave an emotional speech at Arlington National Cemetery for Memorial Day.In the speech, Rogers spoke on several topics, including never knowing his own father, who died in World War I before he was born; the death of his best friend, James “Bucky” Buchanan, in combat; and the toll of war on those left behind.The normally stoic Rogers had to stop and collect himself several times during the speech, and even shed a few tears.Bystanders said there was not a dry eye in the house by the time he finished, closing on an honest but hopeful note:

 

_“I am proud to stand here on this day, the day meant to remember every man and woman who died in service to our country.There is no measurement for their sacrifice, no adequate way to describe their bravery and the tragedy of their loss.Oftentimes, people don’t want to talk about the ugly reality of war.Let me be clear: you will never be as cold, as hungry, as tired, as sick in mind and faith as you are in war, and sometimes, when it’s dark and bloody and hopeless, you wonder if the dead aren’t the lucky ones.But I know not one of the people we honor today would have chosen not to come home._

_It is my profound hope that someday we may not need to stand here with arrows in our hearts.That someday people might not have to die for a free and prosperous nation.In the lens of decades I have seen what we are capable of.I pray that in the years to come, as I gray and fade, we might all be privileged enough to live in a world where war is only a memory.That I might see, before I go, a generation without veterans, without martyrs or mindless casualties.I want nothing more than to someday be the last of my kind.The last soldier._

_So on this day of mourning, let us remember.Let us look back, but let us also look forward and recall our duty to our fallen comrades and loved ones.The duty to leave things better than we found them, to answer their sacrifice with a commitment to peace.The greatest thanks is in refusing to make the same mistakes that led us to this place of grief.For everyone who rests here in Arlington, everyone lost in the far corners of the Earth, even the bones long buried in Antietam and Bunker Hill, I, Steve Rogers, solemnly refuse._

_Thank you.”_

 

Steve Rogers was a gift, thank you very much, and neither humanity nor James deserved him.

 

 

 

PEPPER: _He has something in his eye._

The next message was a video of Tony “I Hate Emotions” Stark standing in front of an enormous TV, valiantly trying to pretend he wasn’t tearing up at Steve’s speech.

 

 

 

TONY: _Hell of a speech._

STEVE: _Thanks._

TONY: _You ok?_

STEVE: _Yeah._

STEVE: _Are you?_

TONY: _Oh, you know, nightmares about dying in space aside, I’m great._

STEVE: _You know what that cop said to me?_

TONY: _What cop?_

STEVE: _The one you sent to collect me when you thought I was gonna dump myself off the Tappan Zee Bridge.Which, by the way, come on, you know I would pick the Brooklyn Bridge if I was fixing to end things.Also, it wouldn’t work.It would just hurt a lot._

TONY: _Still a ray of sunshine, I see.Used any controlled substances lately?_

STEVE: _He said it’s better to get help than be sorry._

STEVE: _I dare you, Tony.I dare you to get help._

TONY: _You are a sneaky little shit._

STEVE: _Yeah, yeah.Cry about it._

 

 

It was universally agreed, almost overnight, that Steve’s speech was the best thing he had done in recent memory, excluding that whole fighting aliens in New York deal.It was telling, though, that the first things that came up in Google when he typed Captain America were:

 

_Captain America Memorial Day Speech_

_Captain America Sex Tape_

 

James sighed and closed his laptop.

 

 

WEEK 7

 

TONY: _Steven Grant Rogers!_

STEVE: _Yes, mother?_

TONY: _Why are people saying you made a sex tape?_

STEVE: _Oh, are they?_

TONY: _Some reporter ambushed me with that today and I almost slapped him.It’s BS, right?_

STEVE: _I wish I could say yes._

TONY: _WHAT._

STEVE: _Believe me, it wasn’t my choice._

TONY: _OMFG IS THAT WHY_

TONY: _THE SADNESS_

TONY: _HOW DARE…WHAT THE FUCK!!!1_

TONY: _WHO DO I HAVE TO KILL._

STEVE: _Don’t kill anyone, Tony.The act was willing, the recording was not, and it’s already been taken care of._

TONY: _NOT TO MY SATISFACTION_

TONY: _MUST STAB_

TONY: … _is that a guy?_

STEVE: _You’re watching it?What is the matter with you?Stop!_

TONY: _Nice technique._

STEVE: _I wish I didn’t know you._

 

 

 

WEEK 8 

 

 

STEVE: _How’s therapy going?_

TONY: _Eh, I went but I don’t think it’s gonna stick._

STEVE: _Quitter._

TONY: _I see what you're doing here._

STEVE: _Oh yeah, Quitty McQuitterson?_

TONY: _Oh look, we’re in 5th grade again.I wish_ ** _I_** _didn’t know_ ** _you_** _._

STEVE: _Then why don’t you just quit me too?_

TONY: _Steve, please go home right now and watch Brokeback Mountain._

 

 

 

STEVE: _Wow._

TONY: _Yeah._

 

 

 

By now things came easy with Rosalind, or easier than they had, at first.They finally found an antidepressant that seemed to work for him.He had, apparently, given up too soon in his search a year before.He’d received a heavy scolding about trying to self-medicate without the advice and direction of a professional.He thought it best not to tell her about everything that came before the antidepressants.He still hurt sometimes, but it was nothing like it had been.Nothing.

Today, however, he was struggling with what he wanted to talk to her about.She sensed it and let him stew.He didn’t know why it was so difficult to just say it; he’d talked to her about the horrible things he’d seen and done, the loss of Bucky, the way being so out of place ate at his mind, the fact that he didn’t even feel at home in his own body sometimes.This was small in comparison.

“Roz,” he finally said, “I’m gay.”

She looked over her glasses at him and appeared entirely unfazed - which was exactly what he had hoped for.

“I’m glad you felt like you could share that with me.It’s very personal.Coming out isn’t easy.”

He shifted in the blue chair.Sunk low.“Do you…do you think I should be out _publicly_?”

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks except you.”

“Wouldn’t it be good for people, though?Kids who are confused, their parents, the whole community?”

“Steve,” she said.“I know you’re used to shouldering tremendous burdens.But just because you are who you are, doesn’t mean that you have to shoulder this one.”

He chewed his thumbnail.“Isn’t that selfish?”

Roz laughed.“I’ve met a few people in my time that I’d call selfish, but you aren’t one of them.”She sat back, her face thoughtful.“A theme I’ve noticed in your difficulty adjusting to the present is a lack of privacy.You struggle with the invasiveness of modern society.Wanting to be a voice for the LGBTQ community is a great, great thing, but there are other ways to help.Ways that don’t jeopardize what little privacy you _do_ have.”

Steve sighed.She was right - she was _always_ right.But…

“I think I’m getting tired of hiding.”

 

 

 

TONY: _By the way, you never have to worry about that video again.Hill is good but JARVIS and I are better.It’s gone, for real._

STEVE: _I don’t know what to say, except thank you._

TONY: _You’re welcome._

TONY: _I have a question._

STEVE: _Ok._

TONY: _Was that experimentation, or are you gay?_

STEVE: _Will the answer change what you think of me_

TONY: _No.Didn’t think you cared what I thought of you, anyway._

STEVE: _How do I know you’re not lying?_

TONY: _Because I did my own fair share of experimentation.Does that change what you think of me?_

STEVE: _No._

TONY: _Ok then.Question stands._

STEVE: _I’m gay._

TONY: _Cool._

TONY: _Nat’s gonna be pissed._

STEVE: _Why?_

TONY: _She spends like 36% of her spare time trying to find you dates._

TONY: _I guess she still can, with a few minor adjustments._

STEVE: _Oh, please don’t encourage her.I’m actually seeing someone._

TONY: _Yeah?Is it Mr. Prospect Heights?_

STEVE: _Honest to God, just when I think you are redeeming yourself you put your damn foot in it.Stop putting trackers on my shit!_

TONY: _I didn’t put any trackers on you, but you are aware your phone has GPS, right?And all our phones are linked, have been since the battle.You can see where I am any time of day, too._

STEVE: _I don’t want to know where you are any time of day!_

TONY: _Really?I’m hurt._

TONY: _You know what’s weird?Clint has been spending a lot of time in central PA.What is there to do in central PA?_

STEVE: _He probably just wants some peace and quiet away from obnoxious people who spy on him._

STEVE: _And yes, it is Mr. Prospect Heights._

TONY: _He cute?Nice ass?What’s he do?Sit around gazing adoringly at your pecs all day?_

STEVE: _We’re not gonna do this._

 

 

 

WEEK 11

 

James’s lips on his neck woke him.

“Happy birthday.”

Steve smiled, warm and half awake and at least for a few minutes, carefree.He was sleeping better lately.Fewer nightmares, fewer instances where he couldn’t turn his brain off.He could admit that it was probably related to the fact that James fucked him senseless most nights.Not only was he tired - he was _happy._

“Got something for ya.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed.“Is it a birthday blowjob?”

James laughed.“Later.I got you a card.”He put the envelope against Steve’s belly.“Open it.”

Steve did as he said, tearing open the envelope.He grinned.James had found a card with a pink cat wearing sunglasses on it that said ‘One cool cat at 95’.It was ridiculous.It was _him_.

He opened it and a piece of paper fell out.Steve picked up the paper and unfolded it, and when his brain processed what it said, he sat up abruptly.

_No point having a bucket list if you don’t cross things off,_ he’d written on the top of an airline itinerary.

“James, no.You can’t afford this.I’m not worth it.”

“I can, and you are.”

“But your medical bills—”

James climbed into his lap and put his fingers against Steve’s lips to quiet him.

“The Victims Compensation Fund paid them off in full.”

He blinked at James, disbelieving.“They did?”

James nodded, breaking into a teary smile.Happiness exploded in his chest.James played it off well, but Steve knew the telltale signs of someone who barely scraped by.He’d been that person himself. 

Steve made sure to pay when they went out, though that was less and less frequent since James suggested they start working their way through every Best Picture winner since 1945.Steve had also taken to buying groceries while James was at work, and when James brought it up, he said that since he was practically living in his apartment and had a crazy metabolism, it was only right that he replace what he’d eaten.The fact that he bought six times more than what had been there, in actual food groups, besides, was not discussed.

Steve surged forward to kiss him, overflowing with the knowledge that he had been able to help and that the thing that held James back was no longer a barrier.

“You can go to vet school now!”

“Maybe,” James said.“But first - Rio.”

 

 

 

It felt surreal, waking in New York and going to sleep in Brazil.They got to their AirBnB (whatever that was, Steve didn’t know) with one hour left of July 4.No sooner was the door locked behind them than they were pulling at one another’s clothing, desperate for bare skin.Maybe it was the hours cooped up on the plane, the jet lag, the delirium of the sudden freedom they both felt for different reasons, but there was no patience, very little foreplay, and not much preparation since the lube had frozen solid in the cargo hold.James’s tongue was a fine substitute, ravaging him, slicking him up.A lubricated condom took care of the rest.

With 41 minutes left of July 4, James was inside him, fucking him hard but not particularly fast.For all the rush of getting here, James seemed content to draw it out, to tease, and Steve was content to let him. 

With 16 minutes left of July 4, Steve was teetering on the edge of orgasm, so close he could taste it, simultaneously loving and hating the way James refused to give him that little push.But he knew when James rolled them onto their sides and hiked Steve’s leg over his hip that it was time.James could never last in this position.The face-to-face, the eye contact, and the deep kisses were always too much for him.Too much for _both_ of them.This was no different, except that when the world began to ignite Steve pulled away from his lips, tilted his head back, and for the first time in his life, he made whatever sound he wanted.

“Oh _God,”_ James gasped.Steve felt his fingers dig in to his buttocks and teeth close on his shoulder, and they were gone.

 

 

 

He woke up to a barrage of texts that had come through while they were otherwise occupied last night.James was still asleep.Careful not to wake him, Steve reached for his phone and waded through the messages.

Most were just birthday salutations, but a few warranted response.

 

 

NAT: _Why does the GPS say you’re in Rio de Janeiro?_

STEVE: _Because I’m in Rio de Janeiro._

NAT: _On assignment?I didn’t know you were back at work._

STEVE: _I’m not.Just vacation._

NAT: _Isn’t not working for 3 months enough vacation?_

STEVE: _I’ve been in therapy, actually._

NAT: _Oh.I didn’t know._

STEVE: _Was in a bad place.Getting better, though._

NAT: _Good.I’m glad you’re finally taking it seriously._

STEVE: _It wasn’t that I didn’t take it seriously.I just didn’t even know where to start.Like, which of the 5,000 turds that make up the mountain of shit do I pick up first?_

NAT: _Gross, but accurate._

NAT: _Well, there are a lot of pretty girls in Rio.Sex can be very therapeutic._

STEVE: _Yes it can._

NAT: _Get after it._

NAT: _Happy birthday, by the way._

STEVE: _Thank you._

 

 

 

CLINT: _Has Tony been asking questions about me spending time in Pennsylvania?_

STEVE: _Of course._

CLINT: _I can’t decide if it would be more or less effective to just turn off the GPS.Like, would it make him want to know even MORE if I turn it off?Dude’s got a problem, needs to know every goddamn thing._

STEVE: _It’s anxiety.He means well._

CLINT: _I know.But it’s driving me crazy.I just want this one thing._

 

Steve understood.Boy, did he.

 

STEVE: _I get that._

CLINT: _Look, I know you’re working through some shit right now and it’s kind of dick of me to even ask, but could you, I don’t know, run some interference for me?_

STEVE: _You’re not a dick for asking.I would be happy to do it._

CLINT: _Thank you._

CLINT: _Nat seems to think you’re in Rio sowing some wild oats?Taking home bikini girls by the armload?_

 

Steve fought the urge to laugh out loud.

 

STEVE: _Let her think that._

CLINT: _You know, the longer you let her believe you like women, the more pissed she’s gonna be when she figures out you don’t._

 

He didn’t ask Clint how _he_ knew.Hawkeye saw all.

 

STEVE: _Because I lied?_

CLINT: _No, because you were able to pull one over on her.Even I can’t do that._

STEVE: _I guess I’ve just had a lot of practice._

 

 

 

STEVE: _Stop bothering Clint, or I will have the whole team turn off their GPS._

TONY: _You wouldn’t._

STEVE: _I think you know I would._

TONY: _You’re such a bully!_

STEVE: _Don’t even._

TONY: _I’m going to go to therapy and tell them that Steve Rogers is one big mean SOB and nobody believes me cause of that babyface I’m a sweet boy from the 1940s act._

STEVE: _Oh, you are so persecuted, how you must suffer._

STEVE: _Don’t talk about my mama that way._

TONY: _I’m sure she was lovely._

STEVE: _She was.God help her, she would have liked you.Penchant for lost causes and all._

TONY: _See?So mean._

STEVE: _I’ll show you mean, if you don’t leave Clint alone._

TONY: _I just got like 1.5 goosebumps._

STEVE: _Try me, Tony._

TONY: _Ugh fine!_

 

 

James was stirring now, and so was Steve.The lube had thawed out overnight and he had every intention of using it.He kissed James awake and then fucked him slow, lavishing him in unhurried affection, and Steve didn’t stop after he came.He just kept going, keeping him slick and overstimulated until there were tears in his eyes and James came again, body jerking like lightning ran through him.Only then did Steve give in to the monstrous ache of his own pleasure.  

 

 

 

Eventually they made it out of the apartment and up to Mount Corcovado.James still felt like his brain was mush.He couldn’t take his eyes off Steve.He kept forgetting to shave, lately, and he was a bit scruffy and all he could think about was the feeling of that scruff against his skin.But beyond that, he was like a kid, plastered to the window of every vehicle they were in, glowing with wonder.He had traversed Europe more times than anyone could count, but never as a tourist.James wondered if he’d ever taken a vacation at all.If not, Brazil was a hell of a place to start.

When they got there he didn’t seem to know whether he should laugh or cry so he did a bit of both.James snuck a picture of him thumbing tears away from his cheeks.Not long after Steve found a spot and sat down.He clasped his hands, fingers linked, and rested his forehead against them.He _prayed._

The history books said he was raised a devout Catholic.James had seen no evidence of religion in him until now.He supposed war and aliens and losing everything tended to shake a man’s faith.But if there was a place to pray, this was it.

He had not been raised in a religious household.Once he was old enough to understand and investigate, the inherent bias against homosexuality in many interpretations of religion had not served to endear him to the practice.The only time he went to a house of worship was for someone else’s wedding or funeral.

He looked up at the monument.As a piece of art, it was incredible.Soapstone tiles, Steve had informed him, 98 feet tall, art nouveau style, completed in 1931.James chewed his lip, eyes tracing the outstretched arms and long fingers.If religion was like this - welcoming, embracing, how Jesus meant it to be - it might have been something he could get on board with.But people always seemed to miss the point.

Eventually Steve came to stand next to him, right shoulder touching his left.

“That was for my ma,” he said softly.“This was her dream.She knew she’d never get here, but it didn’t stop her.”

“She _is_ here,” James replied, and reached across his body to clasp Steve’s right hand.

Steve looked at him.His lips quivered ever so slightly and his eyes got glossy, but he didn’t cry.He just squeezed at his hand and exhaled slow, like something was leaving him. 

 

 

It was a lot like the first night they met.James had too much to drink, Steve didn’t get drunk even though he must have had ten caipirinhas, and they ate absolutely delicious street food on the way back to the house.But this night James stopped just in time to be in that disinhibited, deliriously happy sweet spot instead of on the verge of falling asleep.Steve pushed a big glass of water into his hand nonetheless.Then he molded himself against James’s back.

James smiled at the symmetry as Steve’s bulk listed him forward into the small kitchen island.It wasn’t often that Steve pressed his size and strength advantage, but James had grown to love it when he did.It was novel, being the smaller one in a pair.When Steve manhandled him…he didn’t really know how to describe why it felt good, but it was probably the same reason Steve liked it so much when he was rough and demanding with him.

Steve’s foot wedged between his and nudged his ankles apart.His big hand slid up James’s spine before pressing down.James let himself be bent over the island, pulse quickening.

“Tell me now,” Steve said, leaning over him, “if you’re too sore.” 

He _was_ a little sore, but nowhere near sore enough to stop him.

 

 

 

As he watched Steve sleep - the rarest of luxuries -he realized it was a _locus of control_ thing.Sam had explained locus of control to him in excruciating detail when James struggled to recover from surgery after surgery.How people either believed they had some control over their fate, or that they were just along for the ride, subject to the whim of outside forces.Hospitalization and sickness could flip that on its head for even the most self-actualized person.It imparted a _role_ on people, the role of patient, sometimes victim, and part of that role was helplessness.Lack of control.Once you sunk into it, it was hard to escape. 

_People forget they were ever anything else_ , Sam said. _And they try to control whatever tiny things they can to give some sense of being in the driver’s seat._

He was guilty, sometimes.James knew he made his nurses crazy, especially during the weeks where it became increasingly clear that the infection in his distal humerus wasn’t going to resolve and he was going to lose more of his arm.What felt more out of control than that?What felt more helpless than knowing there was nothing he or his doctors could do to change the path the Battle of New York had set him on?

The _waiting_ …that was the worst.The injury itself had been swift and brutal, five seconds that changed the course of his life forever.But the waiting, the repeated surgeries, the pain, the constant rallying of hope and mental fortitude for _the next step, this will be the last one if all goes well…_ that was a special kind of hell that fit right in to Dante’s Inferno. 

He couldn’t have known, but all that time, Steve had been suffering in the same way.Waking from the ice must have been as swift and brutal as a car flipping.He knew that dizzying disorientation, coming up from the depths of nonexistence to hit the world full force - like waking from anesthesia.That was traumatic enough.And the hits that came after that, one after the other, like James’s surgeries…

_Good morning, Captain, you don’t know who we are but we swear you can trust us, everything’s different than you remember, isn’t it grand?That war you cracked yourself open for?Those people you love?Done, over, distant memory.That not enough?Now there are aliens.Fight them for us.Fight, keep fighting, you can’t win but don’t you give up, this is what you were made for.Aren’t you so glad?Aren’t you so glad to be here in the bright gleaming future instead of lost under the Arctic sky?_

_Aren’t you so glad to be here, alive?_

That was the silent, often unintentional accusation.People just didn’t know that there was a difference between being alive and living.Until recently, Steve was just alive.Now he was _living_.And James thought maybe…maybe he was, too.

 

 

 

WEEK 12

 

STEVE: _I think I’m in love with James._

SAM: _I know he’s in love with you._

STEVE: _So it wouldn’t send him running for the hills if I said it?_

SAM: _No.Just tie a string around his ankle so he doesn’t float away._

 

 

WEEK 20

 

“I want to come out.”

Roz appraised him.They had not returned to the discussion of how to publicly address his sexuality in many weeks.He had been talking more and more about Bucky lately, and James, too; about the irrational feeling of guilt he sometimes had, like he was _replacing_ Bucky.Roz assured him that it was normal to feel that way, that many who had unexpectedly lost a partner had difficulty letting themselves fall in love again.She also assured him that it was worth it.

He still hadn’t told her that when he lost Bucky, they weren’t actually _together._ Not that it mattered.He couldn’t have stopped loving that fool if he tried.

It was the same with James now, and sometimes it made his skin feel too tight and his mind too full, to hold that kind of love for more than one person.No matter that one of them had been dead and gone for decades.Steve still felt Bucky’s marks all over him.Occasionally he wished he could forget, let James paint him over in new colors to make his own.But that always made him feel a shaky sense of panic.His love for Bucky and Peggy, sweet fragile Peggy with her lion heart - they were the only things that linked him to the past, the only people who had ever known him _before_ and could attest that he actually existed _._ Without them, who was he? _Who the fuck was he?_

He knew it was irrational, but it felt like this time and this place tried repeatedly to force its own idea of his identity on him and if he let go of what little anchored him, he would lose that small, life-battered, tenacious Brooklyn boy entirely. 

Steve took a breath and put his hands on the arms of the blue chair to still them.Terror was rearing his his chest, dark and ugly.

“Steve?” Roz said.She knew his tells.

He couldn’t answer.All he could do was descend into the panic attack, sliding from the chair to the floor to curl up and scream soundlessly into his knees.It was that feeling of always being _in between_ , split in half, longing for something he could never have again even though he remembered it clear as a cloudless day at Coney Island. It was a cruel, cruel trick when yesterday was a thousand years ago. 

Roz got down on the ground with him and rubbed his back.She didn’t say anything.She just let him know she was there, that he wasn’t alone and he wasn’t going to unravel completely.It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but he had gone a good ten or eleven weeks without feeling this way.

Slowly he came down, though his heart still galloped and his diaphragm felt like a bubble of hysteria rested just beneath it, threatening to breach with every breath.It was a testament to love, he supposed, that he had felt so good the last few months.But love didn't solve everything.

“It is really frightening for a lot of people to think about coming out,” Roz said softly.

It wasn’t really about that.But then again, maybe it was.This was just another part of the in-between.Never in his life did he think he’d be considering telling the whole goddamn world that he liked men.One bit of his brain still insisted he must be insane.

“The first night I met James,” he whispered, “he said ‘think of all you could do for LGBT visibility and rights’.He’s right.I can’t keep hiding.”

“Is that Captain America talking?Or is it Steve?” she asked.Not the first time for that question, either.

He pondered it.“I…I think it’s _both._ ”

“Okay.Then you have two options.One, you call a press conference and give a statement.Controlled, straightforward, you dictate how it’s presented.”

Steve couldn’t help the expression that crept over his face.That sounded _awful,_ standing up in front of the lights with dozens of cameras and reporters.It also sounded _conciliatory_ , and he wasn’t fucking sorry for being who he was and liking what he liked.It burned in his belly, the need to make sure that people knew that.

“Option two?”

“You just go about your life less carefully.Let people see you out with James.Let them see you hold hands or kiss or dance.They’ll figure it out.”

That sounded…well, that sounded a _lot_ better.No acid lights burning patterns into his eyes.Just going about his business. _Ey, fuck you, I’m living here._

_“_ Think about it,” she said.“But make sure you talk to James first.This involves him, too.”

Steve nodded, but didn’t quite understand.“Everyone knows James is gay already.”

“Maybe so, but things change a little when you’re the partner of a celebrity.”

Oh. _Oh._ Fuck, that added a whole new layer.Jesus.

Roz must have seen the anxiety ramping up again, because she put her hand on his arm and said, “One thing at a time, Steve.”

“Right,” he breathed.“Right.”

 

 

 

He had scheduled lunch with Tony for after the appointment because he thought he’d be ready to discuss PR implications of him coming out, but he was nowhere near ready for that, or, quite frankly, human social interaction right now.But he wasn’t going to cancel on Tony.They had been texting almost daily, but he hadn’t actually seen him in person for months.

He looked good.Like he’d been sleeping more, laughing more, probably spending more time in bed with Pepper than in his lab.It stabbed through the restless dread that still hung around Steve like a particularly aggressive cloud of gnats.He was able to smile.

Nonetheless, Tony saw it.He saw the way Steve couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus.He saw the itch.

“Hey,” he said over his Bloody Mary, brow furrowed, “did you get in a fight with Prospect Heights, or something?”

“No,” Steve said.“No, we’re good.Really good.”His leg gave an involuntary shake.

“Okay,” Tony said, “then why do you look like you’re about to climb the walls?”

Steve didn’t answer.He fought the very, _very_ strong urge to put his forehead down on the table.

“Steve?” Tony prompted.

“Bad day,” he forced out.“Just… _bad day_.”And he didn’t mean that there was anything inherently bad about the day itself, just that he’d woken up with his mind in pieces and the therapy session had not given him any clear idea of how to put them back together.

When the waitress came by a minute later, Tony said, “Check, please,” and they took their food to go.

 

 

 

“You could’ve canceled.”

Steve shook his head.“No.Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“You actually _missed_ me?”

Steve chewed his french fries and looked down at his feet where they hung over the edge of the roof deck of Stark Tower.He had always liked it up here. 

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

 

 

 

Tony went about his routine, letting Steve trail after him, occasionally casting a look at him to make sure he wasn’t bored.He wasn’t.It had been a long time since he observed Tony, and if he was honest with himself, he had probably never done it in an unbiased way.It was so easy to think of Howard, to wonder where the hell Tony had come from (not his brains, of course those came from Howard).But that streak of reckless daring, of willingness to push it just that much further when prudence seemed the better course - that, too, had come from Howard.And if rumor was to be believed, most of Tony’s anger and his shroud of defense mechanisms were a product of Howard’s less than satisfactory idea of parenting.Sometimes men understood machines better than people.He used to think Tony was one of them.

Eventually Tony got absorbed in what he was doing in the lab - intricate circuit work on the Mark 12 billion or whatever he was on now - so he didn’t notice that Steve was sketching.Eventually he sat up to stretch his neck and saw Steve with his knees up, the sketchbook open against his thighs.

“Hey,” he said.

“What?”

“You should’ve asked me to pose.”He shifted himself into a cocky stance - exactly the way Steve _wouldn’t_ have wanted to draw him.

“Candid is better.”He squinted at Tony.“Iron Man isn’t your only armor.”

“Says the man under the flag and shield,” Tony replied, but a small smile played at his lips.“Let me see.”He crashed onto the couch next to Steve and took the sketchbook.Steve just sat, fiddling with his pencil while Tony took it in.He even let him page past his own drawing to some of the others.If Tony got an eyeful of the naked ones it was his own fault.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” he finally said in mock disgust.

“This used to be the _only_ thing I was good at.”Well, maybe not.He was pretty good in bed, even then, or maybe Bucky just told him that.But nobody in the future had complaints.

“Yeah, sure.”Tony shook his head.“You should sell some of the paintings downstairs.People would fall all over themselves to own a Captain America original.”

“Didn’t sign ‘em Captain America.”He picked at lint on his pants, eyes down, and Tony knew he’d misstepped.

“You know, Pepper’s going to go crazy if you don’t let her arrange them into a display soon,” he recovered.

Pretty much the only time he was at the Tower now was when he wanted to paint.The light was just too good.As a result, his living space was positively _littered_ with canvases and not much else.It had become his studio.

“She can, if she wants.”He still didn’t meet Tony’s eyes, but he wanted to know how far he could get with this strange, mature person he met for lunch.“You have a favorite?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.“The naked soldier.”

That was Bucky.No one would know it, his face wasn’t visible, but Steve knew every line of his body, the exact shade of his skin and hair.He had painted him sitting at an angle against a dark, empty background, naked but for his army boots untied and loose about his ankles.His right knee was up, his left leg tucked under, shoulders slumped so all you could see was the crown of his head and a spill of dark hair.His left hand rested palm-down on the ground, tension in the fingers, and the right elbow perched on the right knee and he gripped a lit but unsmoked cigarette with a long column of ash that could fall off at any second.The knuckles of his right hand were scraped and bleeding. 

“Why?” Steve asked.

“I’m a sucker for self-portraits.”

“It’s not a self-portrait,” he said, sitting up straight, aghast at the idea of it.

“No?”Tony was looking at him sideways, knowing.“Okay, Steve.”

 

 

 

Oh, God.It _was_ a self-portrait.

For an entire year and then some, he’d been defining himself by his losses. 

The unsmoked cigarette, because Bucky wasn’t there to smoke it.Because _nobody_ smoked anymore and he had spent almost every meaningful moment of his life in a smoke-filled room and he missed the smell and the haze that everyone now found repulsive.It was homesickness, pure and simple. 

And those bloody knuckles that never split when he punched someone anymore, the way they had back then when the hundred-pound asthmatic was throwing the punches.At least that slight man knew who he was.

The boots, because the only thing left was the job, and that was all that kept him from being naked and helpless in the world. 

And Bucky, because just like he’d thought this morning, could he even exist without him?No.No, that was why he crashed that plane into the ice instead of trying to land it.But here he was, struggling to rebuild from cinders and dust, like a city laid barren by the Luftwaffe.

He went back upstairs, somehow better _and_ worse off than he’d been when he walked in the door.

 

 

 

His mood had not improved, just changed, and after a long silence he looked up to see Tony mixing drinks.The certainty of a man who knew another man well settled over him and he gave it voice.

“I will punch you in the fucking face if you make me an Old Fashioned.”

Tony doubled over and laughed so hard that he cried.Then he poured the Old Fashioned down the drain and made Steve a Manhattan instead.

 

 

 

They were up on the roof again, laying flat on their backs, empty cocktail glasses scattered around them in glass halos.

“I might, um…I might…”

“Complete a sentence someday?”

“Fuck off.”

“Okay.Bye.”Tony pretended to get up.Steve rolled his eyes.

“Like you’d ever leave me alone that easily.”

“Fair point.”

“Anyway.What I was attempting to say was that I’ve been thinking about, um, maybe coming out.Like, to the public…and stuff.”

“And stuff?You sound like Clint.”He lifted his hands, making a frame with them.“Next on CNN, Captain America, Gay and Stuff.”Tony squirmed and bit at one of his knuckles.“I am trying _so_ hard not to make a dirty joke right now.”

“Gay and stuffed with cock?” Steve offered, having arrived there himself the second it came out of Tony’s mouth.

Tony exhaled with a squeak of unrestrained glee.“Yes.Oh, yes,” he said.“This is messing with my head.I want to go back to when you called people sir and ma’am and were an awkward virgin.”

“That would be 1936, I lost my virginity when I was 18.And I still call people sir and ma’am.”

“People had sex in 1936?”

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Steve said, “but I did.Lots.”

Tony shook his head.“I know you can’t get drunk, but are you drunk?”

“No,” he replied.“I’m Steve.”

“Yeah,” Tony said.“Yeah, I guess you are.It’s really fucking good to meet you, Steve.”

 

 

 

Pepper found them out there on lounge chairs well after 10 pm.Tony was sleeping the sleep of the whiskey-soused.Steve was awake and staring at the red-tinted clouds sliding across the sky.

“What in the _hell?”_ she said, nearly tripping over the empty whiskey bottle.

“It’s my fault,” Steve said.“I’ll carry him to bed.”

Pepper stared at him.Then she shook her head, pulled off her shoes, and sat down.She helped herself to what was left of Tony’s last drink as she put her feet up.

“Tony said you’ve been thinking about arranging my paintings.”

“What I’ve been thinking is that you should show in a gallery.”

“No.”

“Why?” she asked.

“It’s…people wouldn’t come for the art.”

“Then use a fake name.”

Steve frowned.“You can do that?”

“Sure you can.”

Huh.He didn’t know.

“Think about it,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, Pepper,” he murmured.“I have so much to think about it’s a miracle my head doesn’t explode.”

 

 

 

STEVE: _How’s your hangover?_

TONY: _Urrrgghhhh_

 

 

 

TONY: _Today a better day?_

STEVE: _Kind of._

TONY: _Pepper won’t stop making fun of me for being carried to bed like a little kid._

 

Bucky used to carry him to bed sometimes, at his sickest.

 

STEVE: _There are worse things in life._

TONY: _I guess._

TONY: _We never did talk about what was bothering you._

STEVE: _That’s ok.I have a therapist._

TONY: _But you can talk to me, too, if you want._

STEVE: _I appreciate that._

STEVE: _Hey, when is the next team dinner?_

TONY: _Next Thursday at 7._

TONY: _You gonna make an appearance?_

STEVE: _I think so._

STEVE: _Maybe I’ll bring Prospect Heights._

STEVE: _But don’t say anything to the others so they won’t be disappointed if I change my mind._

TONY: _You mean if you chicken out?_

STEVE: _Yeah.Because I might._

TONY: _You know that no one is going to care.This is not a group that shocks easily._

STEVE: _I know.Still makes me nervous.My brain’s wired for a time where you took this to your grave._

STEVE: _Can’t undo that in 18 months._

TONY: _No, but if you’re thinking about coming out maybe this is what you need, to start small with a group you know is safe._

STEVE: _You’re actually pretty insightful when you’re not being a sarcastic jerk._

TONY: _Well, you’re actually pretty fun when you’re not being a self-righteous jerk._

TONY: _Bring Prospect Heights.It’s been killing me, trying to keep from researching.I need to know who this man is.I can’t last much longer._

STEVE: _I was about to say I was proud of you, but that is the wrong message for a stalker._

TONY: _Bite me._

STEVE: _You should be so lucky._

TONY: _Steven Rogers, you are a goddamn sass._

 

 

 

WEEK 21

 

“Breathe, Steve.”

The blond released the air he’d been holding and tried to pull in more.“I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can.These people are your friends.And two of them know already.”

“But.”Breath in.Out.In.Out.

“But what?” James said, smiling.He had hyperventilated in much the same way when he tried to decide what clothes and what prosthesis to wear to _meet the motherfucking Avengers._ He hadn’t really worn a prosthesis since he met Steve, but not everybody was like him.Honest to God, he sometimes thought Steve forgot it wasn’t normal to have a boyfriend with only one arm.

Steve leaned forward and rested his head on his arms.They were at the coffee shop two blocks away from Stark Tower.As they got closer and closer James could tell Steve was losing his nerve.This was a huge step for Steve and James wanted him to succeed, but he knew that if he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready. 

“What nightmare scenarios are you envisioning?”

“None,” he groaned.“I know it’ll be fine.I’m just scared shitless.My brain’s screaming at me, _are you insane, are you trying to get dead_?”He held up a hand and it was shaking.“I wish Xanax worked.”

He’d had luck with antidepressants, but not so far with anxiolytics, and James had seen firsthand how he had been too sad to be anxious before.Not so much now.However, it was still a vast improvement over six months ago.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.We can turn around and go home.”James put a hand over his.His palm was clammy.“I do have to tell you, though, that I’ll never look this presentable ever again.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a smile.“You look good all the time.” 

“I said _presentable._ ”

“Is that what this is?I’m _presenting_ you?”

“No,” he laughed at the mutinous tone in Steve’s voice.“You’re just taking me to meet the other weirdos you hang out with.”

“Oh God,” he said, going pale, “what if they’re mean to you?”

“Steve, they’re not gonna be mean to me.”

“Natasha might.She’ll be mad I didn’t tell her.”

He patted Steve’s arm.“I can handle it.Stop making it about me when it’s about you.”

Steve groaned again.

“Okay,” James said, unable to keep the smile off his face because he knew how good Steve would feel when it was over with, “moment of truth.We going to dinner or not?”

“Going to dinner,” he said, and he walked the whole rest of the way like he was being marched to the end of a plank over shark-infested waters.But when they got there, his spine straightened and his head lifted and his eyes said _I dare you to have a problem with this._ It was more than he needed with his friends, but it was good practice for the public if he ever made it that far.

James felt strongly that he should be out to the public, yet he knew it wasn’t his call.He couldn't begin to understand Steve’s anxiety or the pressure of fame.So he’d made up his mind to be supportive of whatever Steve chose.After all, if he wanted things done for the community there was no reason he couldn’t do said things himself.

“Good evening, Captain Rogers.”

“Hi, JARVIS,” Steve replied.He didn’t sound out of sorts, but James knew that when he fell back on his Captain America voice, he usually was.

“Might I inquire as to the identity of your guest?”

“James Barnes,” he said in Steve’s stead.“Nice to meet you, JARVIS.”

“The pleasure is mine.If you might step forward to create a retinal scan?”

Steve pointed and he leaned in to the reader.

“Captain Rogers, will Mr. Barnes be a repeat visitor?If so I will store his scan.”

“More like a repeat offender,” a man’s voice echoed across the lobby.“Store it, JARVIS.”

“Here we go,” Steve breathed, low so only James could hear.“Just remember, you asked for it.”

“I’m pretty sure you asked me to come to dinner,” James returned, and pinched Steve’s behind.Steve gave a surprised yelp and jumped.

“Oh, I like you already.Tony Stark,” the man himself said, holding out a hand as he approached.James shook it, ignoring the part of his brain that said _Ermagerd Terny Sterk!_ “It was…”

“James.”

“Good to _finally_ meet you, James, Steve’s been hiding you like contraband.”He glanced at Steve and leaned in a little closer.“He nervous?”

“So nervous.”

“I’m right here!” Steve practically shouted.

“ _So_ nervous,” Tony agreed.“C’mon, Steve, we’ve got your favorite, chia seeds.”

“I swear to God, I will walk right out that door.”

“Oh, then I’ll have to introduce James as my side piece.”

“What the hell is a side piece?” Steve demanded. 

“Much to learn, you still have,” was all Tony said, and James knew he was in for an evening he wouldn’t soon forget. 

 

 

 

Tony hadn’t told anyone that he was coming, let alone that he was bringing his boyfriend.But he saved Steve the trouble of having to say it himself; as they walked into the dining room Tony bellowed, “Steve and his boyfriend are here!”

And for a second, the faces that rose eagerly to greet him were confused, except Clint, of course.Then they saw James.

“Um,” Steve said.“This is James.”

If there was a moment of awkwardness, it was the shortest in history.A second later everyone flew up from the table and Steve was swarmed with hugs and smiling faces.He had not seen any of them in close to six months.Even Bruce hugged him, and Bruce wasn’t a hugger as a rule.Natasha gave him a kiss on the cheek and a glare that said _we’ll talk about this later._ She saved the real dirty look for Clint, who just smiled back at her and looked deeply content.

He needn't have worried.James was a natural.They were delighted with him.Steve didn’t have to say a word and no one forced him to; he wondered just what Tony had been telling them all this time.The truth, maybe.That he was sad and lost and needed his time to flounder.

Steve realized with a jolt that it was time to look past loss, to see what he had found.His eyes swept over the people at the table.What he had found was _family_.

“Steve?” Pepper said.

He looked up at her, and as he did he became aware that his cheeks were wet.He smiled through the incomprehensible emotion.

“It’s just…I missed you guys.That’s all.”

James squeezed his knee under the table and Tony made gagging noises at the sentiment and everyone else, even Natasha, smiled.And it was, for the first time…

_Home_.


	4. Chapter 3

James laid in the dawn-light, staring at Steve and wishing he could draw more than just stick figures.He loved the way he looked in the morning before his mind kickstarted and the world crept in.Sure, he could take a picture, but the iPhone camera never seemed to capture the beauty and complexity of the moment the way his eyes did.Steve could have drawn it; of that he was sure.

This morning James was troubled.Sex between them had always been intense, but lately James had made it his business to see just how much Steve could take.He already knew how much he could _give._ It was only fair to test the boundaries of pleasure for him. And the more he pushed, the more he tried to find the limits of Steve’s body, the more he realized that said limit didn’t exist _physically_.It was his mind that began to falter in the onslaught.

Last night, when they finished, Steve was barely responsive, his eyes far away.James didn’t like it.He didn’t like it one bit, because it had to be difficult for him to be cast adrift in that kind of headspace when he already struggled to inhabit an unfamiliar world.But Steve returned to him in a few minutes, and he did so with a smile.The kind of smile that was, in itself, a reward.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Steve murmured.His eyes were still closed, but his face had already changed.

“You’d tell me if you didn’t like something we did, right?” James asked.He wasn’t entirely sure he could trust that dazed smile from last night.Steve was looking at him now, very much aware of what James was talking about. 

“Yes,” he responded, clear-eyed and confident.

“Last night didn’t freak you out?”

He shook his head. 

James contemplated him from his spot in the blankets.Steve’s emotional health wavered from the strangest things - ice cream, Halloween, the Q train, hipsters in ironic vintage hats.James did not understand how this, of all things, did not unsettle him.

“If you’re lying to me…” he breathed. 

Steve propped up on a hand. “I can smell you,” he said simply.

James blinked.“What?”

His lips twitched in mirth.“I don’t mean that in a bad way.I can smell you - your scent - so I know it’s safe to let go.”He smiled.“And that I’ll find my way back.”

He looked at him stupidly, a shock of warmth pumping through his veins.He didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love with him, but apparently he was wrong.Steve leaned over to kiss the corner of his mouth.The he got up and stretched, spine popping audibly, and walked toward the door, the muscles in his back and that fine, fine ass rippling.

Of course, it was ruined a second later when he stumbled over one of their positioning pillows (machine washable slipcover definitely in need of machine washing after last night) and had to catch himself on the doorframe.

“Smooth, Rogers.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped throwing shit _everywhere_ …”

He did have a point, but James would never admit it.Even if he had exploded a bottle of very nice, fairly expensive lube by stepping on it the other day and spent the remainder of said day nearly killing himself whenever he had to walk on the tile floor in the kitchen.

“All the books say you have two left feet,” he teased, smirking.

“Whatever,” Steve said.“You’re the one who’ll have to explain to Pepper that I can’t go to the gallery opening because I broke my damn leg tripping over a dildo in the dark.”

And it was folly - that would _never_ break Steve’s leg and he didn’t want to know what would - so James just laughed and spent the next hour thinking about what he could do to Steve with a dildo in the dark.

 

 

 

If only James knew, Steve reflected as he brushed his teeth, how often he woke up disoriented.Not just since being excavated from the ice.It happened with the serum, too. 

For months he’d forget that his body had changed until the sudden vertigo of standing up and being much taller than he remembered.Until he caught sight of his hands, no longer fine-boned and pale and spidered with blue veins.He hit his head on things constantly, knocked things over because he just didn’t know how _big_ he was.In some ways the time on the road with the USO tour was good; if he had gone straight onto the battlefield in a body he didn’t know, it would have been a disaster. 

Once he was out in the thick of the war, he would go weeks on end without ever seeing himself in a mirror.It was as much of a shock on the rare occasion that he saw his reflection as it had been that first day.Because his mind, it didn’t feel different.Steve knew it was - good soldiers weren’t just made of muscle and no super soldier serum worth its salt would only work on the body - but he never stopped feeling like the little guy.

As for the _when_ …once a week, on average, he woke up thinking he was still in Europe in 1945.But the realization that everything was too clean, too quiet, and too controlled sunk in fast, and in a cascade he remembered.Two thousand something.Cell phones, computers, men on the moon, color TV, sushi and quinoa and avocado and hummus, Dodgers in LA, aliens falling from the sky, Avengers.Loneliness and longing and confusion.The ache, bone deep.

Though not so much anymore, because he rarely woke alone and there was a star so bright in this tumultuous future that he felt like he could navigate by him.It hadn’t frightened Steve, last night, to slip away.He had always craved the safety to let go, to give himself over to someone else entirely.It was exhausting to spend every day fighting, whether it was his health or his wallet or Hydra or Chitauri or his own fevered mind.It was a sweet relief to let it all fade into something else.

He wasn’t sure he could make James understand that.Bucky had known, instinctively, but with him it was more about peeling away the shell of rage and spite and indignance so it never came to define him, never overtook the good parts of him.With James, it was more about pulling him back from everything that had been heaped upon him - giving him respite.A place where nothing was expected of him.Where someone else took the reins from his tired hands.

That thing he thought he’d lost with Ben was found, and if being set drift in an enthralled subconscious was the asking price, he’d pay it every time. 

 

 

 

Steve let Natasha do a disguise on him for the opening and it was _weird_.James didn't think he needed it, but Steve was convinced that people were smart enough to put two and two together.That if he showed his actual face at an art opening for someone who signed their paintings SGR, they’d know it was him even though he, Pepper, and Natasha had crafted another persona.

So James went all in, and Steve laughed so hard he snorted when he saw that Natasha had made _him_ the 95 year old in the relationship, for once.

“You’re still sexy when you’re old,” Steve said, and kissed him.

“There’s a cradle robber joke in here somewhere,” Natasha muttered as she worked on her own look for the evening.They didn’t pay her any mind.

“I think you should have gone drag,” James pouted when Steve let him up for air.

“I second that,” Natasha chimed in.“Your bone structure is ridiculous.”

“Maybe if I was still small,” he said.“I could’ve passed, then.”

“Did you ever?” James asked, intrigued.

Steve shook his head.“Not brave enough, by a long shot.”

“You, not brave enough for something?”

“It isn’t my thing.If it was, you can bet I’d do it.”

That he believed.Steve was less careful by the day, when it came to being out in public with James.He had made up his mind to let the world see, if they bothered to look, and James knew they would catch on eventually.

“To be serious for a minute,” Steve said, “I hated being seen as effeminate.Not because there’s anything wrong with it, because people didn’t take me seriously.The things I said and did, they had less weight to them because I had less weight to me.I got in so many fights because I just wanted people to listen to me the way they listened to others.And then I got in fights because I realized that was what life was like for women and marginalized people all the time and most of them couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up and swing their fists and demand to be heard.Not back then, anyway.”

It made him smile, thinking of tiny feminist social justice rage-ball Steve.He could see Natasha’s dark lips curving into a smile in the mirror, too.

“Ah,” James said.“So that’s why, Peggy…”

“God, yeah,” Steve nodded.“She’d stand up to the devil himself and have him eating out of her hand by the end of it.”

“Would you have married her?”

“In a heartbeat.”

He tilted his head at Steve.“You bi?”

Once again, Natasha’s eyes flickered up in the mirror.She was obviously wondering the same thing.

Steve raised an eyebrow and said, “Find me another Peggy Carter and I’ll let you know.”

Which meant they’d never know.

 

 

 

Natasha, disguised as Sarah Grace Riordan, sold eight paintings that night, at prices that made Steven Grant Rogers uncomfortable and Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts ecstatic.Now they knew that if Steve decided never to go back to work for SHIELD, he could make a living the same way he had before.Steve just grumbled that people ought to donate that kind of money to charity instead of wasting it on his art.James couldn’t help it; he slapped him over the back of his head.When the hell would this man realize his own greatness?

Maybe never, and that was why he stayed that way.

 

 

 

They were at that bar, the one where he’d first met James, mostly because it was close to the gallery and big enough for their group.They’d really turned out for him.Tony, Pepper, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Maria, Sam, and James all mingled happily.Some more happily than others; Sam had barely taken his eyes off Maria since they were introduced, and Maria didn’t seem upset by the attention. 

Sometimes Steve suspected that the team liked James more than him - who could blame them? - but this was not one of those times.They toasted (and roasted) Sarah Grace and Steven Grant with every round, growing so raucous that only Tony’s debatably good name and outrageous tipping kept them from being kicked out.

In the midst of it all, Steve was having a strange moment where nostalgia and the present moment collided.He felt like he had back then, those rare stolen glimpses of mundanity on backdrop of war, a tavern wall the only separation between their lives as soldiers and their lives as men.It wasn’t…

He realized, looking at them, that it wasn’t all that different.And that things had been quiet.Quiet never held.

As if the universe heard his thoughts, the door opened and in stepped Ben - mercifully alone.Steve had exactly two seconds to hope that James didn’t notice before it became clear that he _had_ noticed.And he was just drunk enough to act on it.

“James, _don’t—_ ”

Steve wasn’t fast enough and he was going to hell, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.James did not punch Ben in the throat, as promised, but he did lay him out cold before he even made it to the end of the bar.Then he turned to the crowd.New Yorkers weren’t prone to shock and awe, on a whole, but it wasn’t every day that they saw what appeared to be an elderly amputee knock someone out in a very one-sided bar fight.Every eye was on him.

“That man is a sexual predator!” he shouted, pointing at Ben where he lay dazed on the floor.To James’ credit, his words were only a _little_ slurred.

“Okay,” Steve heard Sam say next to him, suddenly sober.“Time to go.”

Steve couldn’t agree more.

 

 

 

As Tony could always be counted on to draw attention to things that should probably be ignored, Steve should have known that sleeping dogs would not be left to lie.

“So, um, what the fuck?” Tony asked as they walked.

Natasha, Maria, and Pepper were up front, outpacing the men even in heels, but they slowed noticeably when they heard Tony’s question.James was stewing in the back with Thor and Clint.Steve had fallen into the middle with Tony, Bruce, and Sam. 

“Yeah, I kinda wanna know, too,” Sam said after a long pause.

“I’ll tell you what the fuck,” James said.“That guy—” 

“James, _please,_ ” Steve interrupted.He had not realized how much seeing Ben would set _both_ of them off.James was angry.It was amplified by the alcohol, to be sure, but probably not by much.For his part, he felt jittery and let down, the happy glow of the night dashed away by one man in 8 million.He _hated_ that Ben had that kind of power. 

“No, Steve!” James nearly shouted.“He’s a creep and he should be in jail for what he did to you.” 

The group had stopped now, brought to a halt by his words, and they were in the middle facing one another.He’d seen this rage face before.That first morning they’d woken up together and Steve finally let himself talk to someone.Had that really been almost eight months ago? 

“Which is _what_ , exactly?” Natasha asked, stepping forward, menace exuding from her every pore.Maria was right at her elbow.

Oh, God.They meant well, all of them, but the thought of them all knowing…

“Steve. _Steve.”_ Bruce’s face swam into his vision and he felt him tugging at his arm.“You have to breathe.”

He tried.Really, he did.It just wasn’t working.Steve’s insides were doing funny things; he thought he might be sick.

Thor and Bruce manhandled him to the bench in the bus shelter on the corner.Sam and James followed.James sat down next to him and took hold of his hand.The anger wasn’t gone completely, but he knew he’d said too much and looked on the verge of tears himself.Steve squeezed his hand.He wasn’t mad.James was a passionate person, naturally, and it burned him up that Steve could never get justice.It reminded him of… _him_ , back in the day.Skinny, ready-to-fight-the-world Steve Rogers would have torn Ben a new one or broken bones trying. 

That, ultimately, was what began to unclasp the panic in his chest.He tried to still himself, breath puffing out in the crisp air when he managed to pull enough to fill his lungs.Steve knew his reaction meant that they were all imagining something much worse than what had really happened, but he couldn’t help it, and maybe he was wrong to minimize the situation.Maybe it had been so far down on the list of ills that it had seemed small when really it wasn’t.He had never even talked to Roz about it.Clearly he should.

“I’m gonna need somebody to give me a reason not to go shoot a civilian,” Maria growled.She whipped a small pistol out of a thigh holster that was hidden under her dress.

“Lord give me strength,” Sam whispered.If possible, the hearts in his eyes were even bigger than before.It stirred the corners of Steve’s lips into the tiniest smile.

“I am fresh out of reasons,” Clint replied.“But I have plenty of arrows.”

“Okay,” Pepper said, exasperated, “nobody is going to shoot anyone tonight.James already knocked him out and that will have to do for the time being.Steve, do we need to go to the police station to report something?”

“No,” he said, centered by the multi-tiered realization that he himself should be angry instead of embarrassed or afraid, and that these people would take up arms to defend him if anyone gave him so much as wrong look or a paper cut.He knew many of their ills and not one of them would judge him for his.But for the immediate moment, all he wanted was for Ben to stop intruding on what had been a very good evening up until this point.Steve took a deep breath. 

“It…I looked into it and there’s nothing anyone can do.”

“Arrows are still in play,” Clint said under his breath.“That’s something to do.”

“What do you mean, there’s nothing anyone can do?” Tony said at the same time.The two men looked at each other, and then back at Steve, as focused as he’d ever seen them.It was a little frightening, given how prone both of them were to distraction anywhere but the battlefield.

Steve pushed to his feet.“We’re tired and we’ve all had too much to drink, and this was supposed to be a good night.I don’t want to ruin it.”

They eyed him warily - they weren’t fooled by the evasion - but thankfully, everyone let it pass.

“You have ruined nothing, Steven,” Thor said, earnest as always.

“I’m the one who ruined it,” James said.“I shouldn’t have…but…” he sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.“Now I know what people mean on those true crime TV shows when they say they just blacked out.”

Steve laughed and pulled him in close.“You should have and I’m glad you did.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”He leaned forward to kiss him chastely.“It’s nice to let someone else throw the punches, sometimes.And it was kinda hot.”Oh, who was he kidding - it was _very_ hot, now that he replayed it in his mind.

James smirked.“If I had two arms, Steve, I swear…”

“You did just fine with one,” Sam said darkly.Steve would bet he was starting to piece things together in his mind.True to his word he’d never asked about Steve’s trip down to the VA for those blood tests, but now he had enough information to infer.He and Maria wore matching murder faces.

Steve gave in to the urge to kiss James for real.He hadn’t done this with an audience so far, but found that he didn’t care.His heart was filling up, pushing Ben out.

“Now it’s getting weird,” Tony said.Not because they were kissing - because of the disguises.Steve could only imagine what they looked like. 

“Yeah.This would be so hot if James didn’t look two hundred years old,” Natasha agreed.

James surfaced for a brief second to say, “That’s ageism.”

“Nice job on the disguises, by the way,” Bruce complimented.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding pleased. 

Steve pulled back from James and licked his lips.“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be, acting like some normal person showing affection to their significant other.How dare you,” Maria grumbled.She holstered her gun, but still looked like she’d rather be shooting someone. 

“Is anyone else getting cold?” Pepper whined.She was shivering.

“I find it to be quite refreshing,” Thor said, oblivious.Of course he did, he was walking around in a t-shirt in the 40 degree weather. 

Tony shrugged out of his jacket and layered it over Pepper’s shoulders.She burrowed into it appreciatively. 

“Pizza?” he said.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, lighting up with a smile.

“All right, JARVIS is ordering.Last one to the pizza place pays.”

“I do not have any Earth currency!” Thor protested.

“Better not be last, then, thunder boy,” Tony grinned.Thor shouldered his way to the front, where he fell into step with Tony and Pepper.

“Did he just say _Earth currency_?” Sam asked.

“He’s fucking with him,” Clint said reassuringly.“Thor feels bad that we spend our money on him when he’s here.”

“Oh, tell him about the time he went to a bank and tried to exchange Asgardian money,” Natasha goaded.

“I can hear you,” Thor said in an irritated tone.“It isn’t my fault this realm has inadequate banking services.” 

As they bickered good-naturedly, Steve and James fell to the back of the pack, arms around one another, and the sudden sting of the night began to fade away. 

 

 

 

He expected to be too drunk or too tired or both.But the cold air and the pizza had neutralized the alcohol, and as they dismantled Natasha’s disguises together in the bathroom, James was hit with the same fierce desire as always.He knew, though, that he didn’t deserve Steve’s affections, not tonight.He’d lost his temper and said more than he should have in front of Steve’s friends.Steve had the right to decide who knew and who didn’t and he stomped all over that to indulge his ire.

“Hey,” Steve said, pulling his attention back.Steve tapped a finger between his eyebrows.“What’s going on up here?”

“I’m a bad boyfriend,” he blurted.

“Are you crazy?You dropped Ben with a haymaker for the ages and told everyone in my favorite bar that he was a sex criminal.He can never show his face there again.What part of that makes you a bad boyfriend?” 

“I said things I shouldn’t have.”

Steve sighed.“Maybe.But it made me realize I should be angry, too.”

James frowned at him.“You haven’t been angry this whole time?”

“Not about that.”

“But…what…”

Steve leaned in and kissed him, just a brush of lips.“I don’t want to talk about him.I don’t want him to take up even one more second of my life.What I want is for you to take me to bed and do your best to make it up to me.” 

“Okay,” James breathed.He could do that.He could _definitely_ do that.

 

 

 

It was twenty minutes in, when he reached for the lube and condoms, that he realized they only had one of the two.

“Fuck.”

“Mm?” Steve asked, dazed.

“We don’t have any condoms.”

“Oh.Right.”He blinked and his eyes were a little clearer.“Never kept ‘em here, figured I wouldn’t bring anyone back to this place.” 

That much was true; this was the first time they were sleeping at the Tower, even though they stopped by often for team dinners or just to spend time with Tony and Pepper.James had razzed Steve about preferring his claustrophobic apartment to the palatial quarters here at the Tower, but he knew who he was dealing with.To Steve, this felt more like a hotel than a home. 

“But you keep lube?” he couldn’t resist asking, eyebrow raised.

Steve’s lips curled into a lazy smile.“I got needs.” 

James looked down at him, at his flushed skin and the beautiful laxity that overtook him during foreplay.He did have needs, that was for sure, and James wanted more than anything to fulfill those needs for the rest of his life.He shifted, intent on sliding down to suck him off, but Steve caught his arm.

“It’s okay.”

“What?”

“It’s okay,” he repeated softly.“If you want.I know where you’ve been.”

Steve was telling him he could…

“Are you sure?” 

Steve’s ankles threaded behind his thighs and gathered him close.

“I’m sure.”He smiled again, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.“Just…slow.”

 

 

 

 

The team was remarkably resilient when it came to hangovers.Most of them were already awake and lounging in the common area when Steve and James emerged.Someone had made coffee but the pot was just about empty, so they had three uninterrupted minutes of making out by the coffee maker while it brewed.If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything.

“This morning police are on the lookout for an elderly man who allegedly assaulted a another man at a bar in the Lower East Side last night.According to witnesses, a one-armed man who looked to be in his late eighties punched the younger man without provocation and shouted that he was, quote, a sexual predator.We’ve got one of those witnesses on the phone with us this morning.Mr. Stark, good morning.Some are saying that this individual was in your company at the bar last night.Is this true?”

“You’re kidding me,” Steve said, looking around.Tony and Pepper were the only ones _not_ in the room.

“Well, we met the guy at this art gallery earlier in the night.Went to that Sarah Grace Riordan show, heard of her?Pretty good stuff, really talented, check her out.Anyway, we met him at that show and invited him out with us afterwards.Don’t really know much about the guy, other than that his name’s Harold or Hal or something like that.”

“Is the coffee done, Harold?” Clint piped up.

James snorted and poured a cup for Clint.Steve still couldn’t believe it.Not only was Tony effortlessly throwing them off James’s trail (all of theirs, actually), but he had also plugged Steve’s art to the entire Tri-State area.He returned his attention to the broadcast just in time to hear Tony say:

“I mean, he seemed nice.Grandpas don’t usually just haul off and punch people.If you ask me, you should be looking at the other guy.He said he’s a sexual predator.I bet you he did something to someone he knows.”

It wasn’t news, but Tony Stark was a fucking genius.

 

 

 

The day was full of nothing and nobody seemed to mind it much.Sam had bonded with the team as effortlessly as James and they all laid around like a pile of puppies watching a marathon of James Bond movies because they were uniformly horrified that Steve had never seen any of them.Well, except Thor, who thought the movies were hilariously bad.Steve privately agreed with him, but didn’t have it in him to break anyone’s heart by saying so.

After four straight movies, stomachs were rumbling and someone ordered out.The news came on and Tony’s skillful maneuvering had already yielded results.

“Now, to follow up on a story we ran this morning, about the man dubbed The Pugilistic Pop Pop.If you recall, an elderly amputee who appeared to be in his late 80s was accused of sucker-punching 34-year-old Benjamin Deacon in a bar last night.Witnesses also reported that he referred to Deacon as a sexual predator before leaving the scene.Since our report this morning, at least four individuals have contacted our studio with accusations ranging from intentional condom removal to possible drink spiking.Police are now investigating the veracity of these claims.If you have any information on either man police are asking that you contact the 7th Precinct.”

“Pugilistic Pop Pop,” Tony mused, breaking the silence that followed.“That’s clever.” 

Natasha practically threw her phone at Steve.“Call them.Call them now.”

“Nat—”

“You don’t have to tell them who you are.”

He looked at James.He was determinedly keeping his mouth shut, but his eyes clearly agreed with Natasha.Steve breathed, weighing the options.

It wasn’t prosecutable.He knew that.But if something Ben had done to someone else _was_ , any little bit would help.The more people who came forward, the worse Ben looked.And if he had to go to court and testify in front of the whole damn world, he would.If nothing came of it, at the very least Ben had been publicly sullied, and likely wouldn’t be finding a date to take advantage of anytime soon.He sat up and handed Natasha’s phone back to her.

“I have my own,” he said, and made to stand.Tony caught his wrist.

“Ask JARVIS to open a secure line for you.”

He nodded, and then went up to the roof to call.It took all of ten minutes.The cop on the other end of the line was brusque but attentive.He took a report and then transferred him to the SVU.He repeated everything for a second officer and gave his name as Steve, along with the callback number supplied by JARVIS.He doubted he’d ever hear from them, but they had listened and taken him seriously.The NYPD now knew Ben was a scumbag even if they couldn’t make anything stick.Yet.

He sat on one of the loungers, trying to make sense of his feelings.He didn’t feel good, but he didn’t entirely feel _bad._ It was a strange, bitter, triumphant sensation wedged behind his sternum.Roz would tell him that he didn’t have to understand it now, that if human emotion was that simple she’d be out of the job and the world a more polarized, less confusing place.

So he got up and went downstairs and ate his wonton soup and chicken with broccoli.Then he climbed back onto the massive sectional with the rest of them and paid no attention whatsoever to the next Bond movie.He just existed, James curled close to him and everyone else close enough to feel their heat.In that bubble of security he fell into an easy sleep.

 

 

 

And everything was bliss, until one strange day in late November.They were in bed and Steve was far gone in that place, utterly lost in pleasure.As he got closer and closer to the promised land, tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes and he said:

“Oh, God, _Bucky!_ ” 

At first James thought he had to be crazy, that he’d misheard and Steve really just said _oh god fuck me,_ which, yes.So he kept on, pushing Steve over the edge at last and falling down with him.He forgot all about it in the aftermath.He loved it so much, the heavy breathing and the trembling bodies and the sweat-slick skin.He loved _him._

But the next time they made love, it happened again.Steve had no idea he said it, none at all, and in the next breath he was back to moaning for James. _But his name was James, too_ , his mind whispered, and the thought stuck there like a splinter too deep to reach.

He should have just left it alone.Just let it pass and gone on with life.He knew that Steve’s mind drifted, that there were dark shifting places in his consciousness, that he was 95 years old and maybe his brain was more aged than his body by all he’d been through.But James was both too curious and too prideful for his own good.

“Steve?”

“Hmm.”He didn’t open his eyes or move in the slightest.He was usually wrecked after this kind of night.Slept like a goddamn log.

James balked.He looked so peaceful and a part of him knew this was cruel.

Steve reached out and poked him when he’d been silent for too long.“What?”

It was cruel, but what if it kept happening?The thought made him feel sick.

“You called me Bucky.When we were…”

His eyes opened.He grew very still.Already James wished he hadn’t said anything.

“I’m sorry.I’m sorry, I…”Steve was rigid with shame and fear.

James reached for him and pulled him close.“It’s okay.I’m not angry.You didn’t even know you were doing it.”

Steve swallowed and exhaled, shaky.

“You and Bucky were…lovers?”

Steve nodded against his chest.It made so much sense now. 

“I’m sorry,” James said softly.

He felt like the worst person in the world when Steve’s eyes welled.This was the wrong time to have this conversation.James was supposed to know better.He was supposed to take care of Steve and he had failed. 

But he couldn’t take it back.And oh, how he wished he could, because Steve had been so happy the last few months and now it seemed like he’d switched the fountain of grief back on.For hours he laid awake with him, blotting at tears, and when Steve finally fell asleep he only managed ninety minutes before he woke up screaming from the worst nightmare James had ever witnessed.And by now, he’d witnessed a lot.

 

 

 

 

“He broke up with me.”

James looked up from the vet school programs he was surreptitiously researching on his computer.“What?”

“Bucky.He broke up with me, after…”

James felt dangerously angry already.“After _what_?”

“After the serum.”

He closed the computer and set it aside to keep from throwing it.“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” Steve said glumly.

“What—why—how could he—what the fuck was _wrong_ with him?”

“Nothing.”

James gaped at him.

“Imagine we didn’t see each other for a while and when we were reunited I looked completely different.Imagine I changed everything about myself without asking you.”

“You don’t need to ask permission to do things with your body, it’s _your body_ ,” James said through his teeth.

“It’s not just my body, when I’m in a committed relationship.What if, while you were at work one day, I took some kind of pill to make me like I used to be?Five foot four, hundred pounds after Thanksgiving Dinner, halfway to death’s door.Would you be on board with that?”

“If it was what you wanted.”

“You say that,” Steve sighed.“But reality is different.”

“Why would he be upset that you were healthy?He should have been thrilled.He should have thrown a fucking parade!” James exclaimed, still in disbelief at what he was hearing.

“It wasn’t just that.He told me to stay home.He didn’t want me in the war, and there I was.I didn’t respect his wishes.”

“Oh, _fuck_ his wishes, control isn’t love!Besides, you saved his life!”

“Yeah.And I think he would rather have died than see me there.” 

“Then why did he stay, if he was so mad?Why’d he follow you right back in?” James demanded.

“Because he felt obligated to protect me.” 

“ _Obligated_ ,” James repeated.Steve didn’t answer.His hands were fisted on the countertop, eyes squeezed shut.He was reliving something.Something singularly unpleasant _._

James breathed.He had never hated anyone more than he hated James Buchanan in that moment.It was clear that Steve loved him, loved him so much he followed him to war and went right on loving him even after he was rejected.He believed Bucky when he said it was his fault.Took to heart every cruel word, every bullshit reason.

“Steve,” he said, voice shaky with anger on his boyfriend’s behalf, “the only thing he was _obligated_ to do was love you, however and wherever you were.”

“Are you _obligated_ to love me, then, no matter what fool thing I do?” he shot back.“Am I _obligated_ to love you?”

James faltered, both at the anger in Steve’s voice and the flaw in his logic.Love demanded patience and compromise, but it didn’t mandate blind acceptance of _everything_.

“It’s never just one person’s fault,” he said around the lump in his throat.“It wasn’t all you, regardless of what he made you believe.”

_And I hate him for hurting you._

“None of it matters,” Steve said softly.“Not anymore.”

 

 

 

Things were stilted and terrible after the argument.Steve couldn’t look at him.He went to stay at the Tower.It about killed him to give Steve the space he needed.It also killed him that he had been the one to start this, because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.Because his fucking ego needed to know that he wasn’t thinking about someone else during sex.

 

 

JAMES: _I did something bad._

SAM: _What?_

JAMES: _I opened Pandora’s Box._

SAM: _Just to be clear, that isn’t a euphemism for a sex act, is it?_

JAMES: _No._

JAMES: _I hurt Steve._

SAM: _Call me right now._

 

 

 

He poured his guts out to Sam.Told him more than he probably ever wanted to know about his sex life with Steve, about Bucky, about what he’d said and done.

“James,” Sam said, “it’s totally natural for you to react the way you did.But Steve doesn’t see him that way.He can’t.Love skews things.You know how you can talk shit about your mama, but if anyone else does you want to deck them?”

“Yeah,” James sniffled.

“Same deal.And to be honest, it doesn’t sound like Steve is even at a point where he’s angry at the guy.”

“But that’s why _I’m_ angry!He made Steve think that everything’s his fault.That he did something wrong.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but he had some valid points.”

“Are you taking his side?” James hissed.

“No, as Steve’s friend I’d slap him if I saw him in the street, but as a therapist being objective I have to acknowledge that his argument has legs.”Sam sighed.“You won’t want to hear this either, but the guy was a POW.He was tortured for weeks on end.His head wasn’t on right and I doubt he had any coping skills left for Steve.”

“It’s not an excuse,” James insisted.“That’s not an excuse to hurt someone you love, who risked everything to save you.”

“It’s romantic on paper, James, but you’ve never been in war and you’ve never had PTSD.It makes people do crazy things, even to those they love.”

James sighed heavily and pressed his palms into his eyes.

“Are you saying I should apologize for thinking his ex is a gutless asshole?”

“Yes.”

He made a frustrated sound.“But I do think that and I’m not sorry.”

“You are, or you wouldn’t have texted me.”Sam paused.“James, Steve knows that you love him, and that’s why you got upset.I’m sure he just thinks you’re disappointed in him.”

“Why would I—”

“Call him, have coffee, apologize.And next time he opens up to you, don’t yell.”

“And what am I supposed to do next time he calls me the wrong name in bed?” he seethed.“The name of a person who hurt him like that?”

“Forgive him.Maybe he’ll eventually forgive himself.” 

 

 

 

He called, they had coffee, James stammered, and Steve kissed him before he could even finish, right there in the Starbucks, no hat or sunglasses and twenty sets of eyes on them.He was willing to bet at least one of those twenty sets of eyes would recognize him.It was the beginning of the end, when it came to Steve being closeted.

 

 

 

He panted against Steve’s shoulder, delirious with post-orgasmic bliss.Steve was still inside him, but he, too, was rendered inert for the moment.His hands traced restless little patterns on James’s back as he tried to catch his breath.

He’d forgotten to pull the curtains.If the people in the next building over were home, they’d gotten an eyeful of him sitting on Steve’s cock and riding him like the thoroughbred he was.

“I don’t _want_ to still feel it,” Steve said softly, into his collarbone.So much was packed into that one small statement.James closed his eyes and relished the warm tickle of his breath.

“I know.” 

What he didn't say - what he’d _never_ say out loud - was _good thing he’s gone, because no one is going to take you from me._ It was an ugly thought, especially after he told Steve a few days before that control wasn’t love.He didn’t know what it was about the situation that made him so possessive.It was insane to be jealous of a dead man.Though he thought maybe he was less jealous of the man than of his power over Steve from beyond the grave.

Steve kissed him, slow and deep, and he felt the mental sludge clearing.

“I love you,” Steve said.“And no matter what nonsense comes out of my mouth during sex, I am always, always thinking about you.Only you.”

James threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and pulled gently, tilting his head back so he could look into Steve’s eyes.They were so very blue, both in color and in sentiment.He was telling the truth. 

James let go and stroked his knuckles against Steve’s temple.

“I’m the one who kicked in the gates of the boneyard,” he said.“I don’t get to be angry when I meet the ghosts.”

 

 

 

STEVE: _Peggy has pneumonia.They’re saying it’s bad and she might not make it.I have to go._

JAMES: _Oh no. :(Call Sam, stay with him.I’ll get on the train as soon as I’m out of work._  

STEVE: _You don’t have to._

JAMES: _Yes I do._

STEVE: _I love you._

JAMES: _Love you, too._

 

 

 

They ran pictures in the newspaper of Steve and Peggy, Steve’s arm around her waist to steady her as she walked with her walker.The doctors said being up out of bed and staying active would help.Between her family and Steve, it was a miracle Peggy got any rest at all, but she recovered. 

Steve’s relief was palpable.He loved Peggy, really loved her, and it was easy to understand why.Even with dementia she was whip smart and mesmerizing.The sort of person whose standards you wanted to meet and exceed, but who would forgive you if you fell short as long as you were trying.James liked her immensely.

Eight days after the ominous text message, he was sitting with them in Peggy’s room.Steve’s hand was twined in hers and they were both lost in thought - the same types of thoughts, if their expressions were anything to go by.

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed after a while, and brought his hand to her lips to press little kisses to each knuckle.

“I know, Pegs,” he replied, and did the same to her fragile, thin-skinned hand.

Even now, they grieved for what might have been.James grieved, too, watching them.Their love was exceptional and they would have been happy.Sometimes it seemed like the people who deserved it most had the hardest time finding it. 

For the first time James was forced to think about what it would do to Steve when she died.Much as he’d like to believe it wouldn’t happen anytime soon, it seemed more and more likely with the combination of age and dementia setting in.When she went, there would be no one left in the world that Steve knew before defrosting.There would be no more _then_.Only now.And James knew that Steve was scared to death of forgetting, of losing the connection.He didn’t fully understand why but it stood to reason that he couldn’t.

He could safely assume that Peggy’s death would shatter Steve.

_I’ll be there,_ he thought at their wistful figures. _I’ll be there to pick up the pieces._

 

 

 

It was December 8 when Nick called him on the phone.Steve answered because Nick had been respectful of his space since he’d laid the boundary down on Memorial Day.If he was calling now, it had to be important.

That was how he found himself in Fury’s office, sitting patiently as Nick stared at him with his hands steepled in front of his face.

“I’m getting some pressure, Captain Rogers,” he started.“From the higher ups.They want to know if you’re coming back, and if you’re not, they want me to name a new team leader for the Avengers.I’m asking you not to make me name Stark team lead.”

“Why?” Steve asked.“Tony could do it.”

“He may be smarter than most of us but we both know he’s a loose cannon.And I’ll be honest with you, Cap.He would never have deferred to you if he didn’t know he wasn’t cut out for your job.”

Steve sighed.Nick was right.Tony was brilliant, but left to his own devices, he risked becoming Icarus flying too close to the sun.He needed a counterbalance; Pepper could only do so much.

“Then name Natasha.”

“They won’t agree to that.Banner won’t want it, Barton’s been out to lunch lately, and I sure as hell can’t put someone who isn’t even from this planet in charge.”

“So it’s me or it’s no one,” Steve said, wry. 

“It’s you, or the Avengers are disbanded and reassigned, assembled only in extreme crisis with me calling the shots.”

He looked out the window behind Nick.Snow flurries danced in airy circles in the wind.“Is that such a bad thing?”

Fury drummed his fingers on his desk.“Cap, I know it’s been quiet, but it won’t stay that way.It never does.”

He sat in silence for a long time, and Fury let him.At last he looked up.

“I’ll think about it.”

 

 

 

“Tonight on E! News, speculation has been running rampant about America’s favorite super soldier, spotted out in recent months in the company of another man.Just last night, Captain Steven G. Rogers arrived at the Stark Industries annual holiday gala with that same man, identified by sources as James Barnes, a veterinary technician from Prospect Heights.Rogers declined to answer any questions on the red carpet, but numerous attendees report the two were very friendly all evening, with one even snapping this picture.”

Clear as day, it’s a picture of Steve and James from behind, with Steve’s left arm around his waist and his hand not quite resting on James’s ass, but close enough. 

“Huh,” Steve said.“Didn’t realize I was doing that.”

“The question on everyone’s mind this holiday season: is Captain America gay?”

“As a daffodil,” James smirked.

“And aren’t you glad,” Steve retorted.

“Yes.Yes I am.”He crawled over the couch to fall across Steve’s lap.Steve obligingly ran his fingers through his hair.James closed his eyes, but opened them a moment later when he felt Steve take a deep breath.

“What?” he asked.

“I just…they know who you are now, and these crazy people are going to start showing up at your job and here outside the apartment and they never stop asking you stupid invasive questions, they’re always watching you—” 

“We already had this conversation.It’s okay.I don’t care.”

Steve looked away.There was more; James knew the look of him gearing up to say something big.He reached up and put his hand over Steve’s heart.It beat strong and steady under his fingers.Steve’s hand covered his and squeezed.

“They want me to go back to work.”

“What do _you_ want?” he asked immediately.

“I wish I knew.”

“When do you have to give them an answer?”

“By January 1.”

“That means you have two more weeks to decide.”

Steve met his eyes, and his fingers traced his brow with familiar tenderness.“What do you think I should do?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Yes it does.”

“Why?”

“If I go back, I won’t be around as much.They’ll send me away on missions and some of them can be long and dangerous.I don’t want you to be lonely or to worry about me.”

James smiled.Leave it to the once loneliest man in the world to worry that his boyfriend would be lonely because he had a job.But he heard what Steve _wasn’t_ saying.Bucky had objected to him putting himself in danger, to the point that their relationship (in part) ended over it.He was asking James for permission.

James harbored no illusions that what Steve did for SHIELD was safe.He’d been there on the streets during the Battle of New York.From the twisted wreck he’d seen Steve blown clear out of a building and into a car with bone-breaking force.It would have killed a normal man.To be fair, alien invasion wasn’t a typical day, but he knew that if Steve went back to work, sometimes he’d have guns pointed at him and people trying to maim, kill, or capture him.He also knew that Steve was both born and _made_ to face that so others wouldn’t have to. 

It did scare him to think about people trying to hurt Steve.It scared him more to think about them succeeding.He wasn’t sure Steve had any concept of his mortality, though.How could he, when he’d survived being made into Captain America in the first place, and the war, not to mention a plane crash and entombment in ice for decades?

Even if it might not be easy, James was sure it was possible for Steve to die.But anyone could die from anything at any time.The Chitauri invasion had taught him that.And if Steve had not been out there doing his job, James wouldn’t be here to have the luxury of discussing Steve going _back_ to his job.

He blinked.It was all very meta. 

“What?” Steve asked.

“My brain was going in circles.”

He let out a soft chuckle.“So it’s not just me.”

James shook his head.He thought for a minute longer, chewing his bottom lip.Then he said, “I’ll love you no matter what you decide.”

Steve sighed and looked at him as if he was simultaneously the most wonderful and most unhelpful person in the world.He’d wanted the easy answer.The answer that made his decision for him, so he didn’t have to think anymore.James knew the feeling.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, thumb trailing over his bottom lip.

“You deserve everything,” James whispered, and meant it.

 

 

It was cold in the basement of the suburban split level, always had been.James burrowed in closer to Steve and breathed in the familiar smells of home.The detergent in the blankets - same one for over twenty years.The ‘clean linen’ air freshener his mother bought in bulk.The ions of Christmas dinner (and dessert) still lingering in the air and the curtains.Steve, musk and warmth and comfort, fit right in.

He’d met James’s family at Thanksgiving and of course they loved him.This was the first time they stayed over, though.He practically had to talk Steve off a ledge when he realized there were gifts for him under the tree, even though he had carefully contributed to the pile of gifts for James’s family.Outside, where the concrete patio gave way to brown grass and a shed full of things no one had looked at in greater than five years, Steve hyperventilated over the trouble they’d gone through. 

James knew it was no trouble at all; his mother loved to shop and a watch from Target and Christmas pajama bottoms from Old Navy wouldn’t break the bank. He also knew Steve would _treasure_ those things.He was already wearing the pajamas.They had ice-skating penguins wearing festive holiday scarves printed all over them.Steve would wear them on a red carpet if he thought it would make Jim and Wendy Barnes happy. 

Still, James was glad that his mother had decided _not_ to give Steve the pajamas with the snowmen on them.Those had gone to Becca.James got the pair with the anthropomorphic candy canes.They were pretty awful.Usually his father got the worst, but this year they were a sedate-by-comparison red, green, and white stripe.

Steve shifted and pulled him closer, wedging a muscular thigh between James’s.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “wanna ask you something.”

“Wait until a decent hour,” James replied, even though he’d already been awake for thirty minutes.

“Ain’t no decent _minute_ in bed with you, let alone an _hour_ ,” Steve grumbled.James grinned and nuzzled his neck.

“Fine.I’ll allow it.”

“So generous.”

“It’s one of my best qualities.”

There was a pause, and then:

“I’m going back to work.” 

He said it like he was sure of it, like the agonizing was done.

“Okay.When?”

“January 15.”

“Soon,” James commented.

“Yeah.” 

“You ready for it?”

“Probably not,” he admitted.

“What’s the question, then?”

Steve licked his lips and his brows drew down.“I…I want to transfer to the D.C. office.Not permanently, but…I really, really want to be close to Peggy.I know she doesn’t have much time left and I don’t see her enough.I need to be there.”

James nodded.The close call with the pneumonia had scared him, and rightly so.He felt Steve’s body start to tense as he went on.

“From what I understand, the, uh, long distance thing isn’t too popular, so maybe I could move somewhere in between?Come back on the weekends, some weeknights?”He was all-out fidgeting now, feet restless in the blankets.“Unless you think you’d want to…um…move with me?I mean, I know it’s a lot to ask, I don’t really have the right—”

“I’ll go with you.”

He blinked, mouth open, but recovered quickly.“But…it’s…you have a life in New York.Don’t give it up because of me.”

“Steve, I have a few friends and a job, but I wouldn’t call it a _life_.It hasn’t been the same for me, since the invasion.” _Besides,_ he thought, _life is wherever you are._

“Yeah,” he said, a little distant, “I know that feeling.”He refocused a moment later.“You mean it?You’ll move in with me?”

“Hell yeah.”He felt a sudden rush of tenderness for him; Steve could be so goddamn innocent and sweet sometimes.They were practically living together already.Steve slept at his place six nights a week, had two drawers and eleven hangers in the closet and a spot by the door where his running shoes lived.There was a toothbrush and a razor and an 8-pack of Ivory soap under the sink.He cooked and he cleaned.Bitched over the cable bill.Fixed plumbing himself because he was _ridiculous._ It wouldn’t be quite so domestic with him back at work, but James was sure he could pick up the slack.

“Your job…”

“I’ll find another one.Stop worrying.”It was his turn to fidget a little; he fussed with the sleeve of Steve’s t-shirt where it had rolled up around his bicep.“Or maybe it’s time for me to start applying to schools.I hear University of Maryland has a good vet program.”

It was pathetic how happy Steve’s answering smile, beaming full of pride, made him.

“Okay,” Steve said, almost glowing.“Then instead of going back to the city tomorrow, we’ll go down to D.C. to look at some places?”

James nodded.“I’ll have to find someone to sublet my apartment and give notice at my job when we get back.”

“Oh man,” Steve said, face falling slightly.“Who’s gonna visit Snowflake when we’re gone?”

James couldn’t stop himself; he pounced, pushing Steve onto his back and straddling him.

“Holy fucking shit, I love you.”

 

 

 

STEVE: _He said yes. :)_

TONY: _Told you he would._

TONY: _When you gonna ask him the other question?_

STEVE: _What other question?_

TONY: _OMG you are dense._

 

 

 

STEVE: _WAIT_

STEVE: _You were talking about getting married, weren’t you_

STEVE: _I keep forgetting that’s possible_

TONY: _It’s possible.When are you going to propose?_

STEVE: _We haven’t even been together a year!_

TONY: _Doesn’t matter, when it’s right, it’s right._

STEVE: _Oh yeah?When are YOU going to propose to Pepper?_

TONY: _asjfskdjkdla_

STEVE: _Mmm hmm._

 

 

JAMES: _Soooo Steve and I are moving down to D.C._

SAM: _WHAAAATTTT_

SAM: _YES!_

SAM: _When?!_

JAMES: _3 weeks._

SAM: _So you’re moving in together?_

JAMES: _Yup._

SAM: _Oh shit son._

JAMES: _I know.But we basically live together now anyway._

SAM: _Yeah but it’s different when it’s official and when you pick out your place together._

JAMES: _I’m really excited._

SAM: _SO AM I_

 

 

 

Nick was a little thrown by his desire to transfer, but he accepted victory where he could find it.It turned out that Natasha and Maria were also going to be spending more time in D.C.Everyone else was staying put, but it wasn’t a long way between D.C. and New York and he’d be up every other week to see Roz.He just didn’t want to go through the trouble of learning to trust a new person or starting over in the dissection of his issues. 

They had found a nice two bedroom apartment in Dupont Circle with custom woodwork and a meticulously maintained vintage kitchen.Steve thought James might pass out at the price tag, which was really nice in a perverse way because it was the first demonstrable proof that he wasn’t actually the only one who suffered from sticker shock in this world.For once he didn’t care.He could afford it.It was perfect and it was theirs.

It did feel a little strange waking up somewhere new, but if he wasn’t good at that by now, he was fucking hopeless. 

The two weeks between New Years and The Day He Went Back to Work passed much too quickly.On January 14 Steve found himself unable to focus on anything.He was nervous.He was…not sure he was doing this for the right reasons.He’d gone with his gut and his gut said Nick was right, things didn't stay quiet forever.And he didn’t want to be the one to break up the team.He recognized Nick’s manipulation of the situation for what it was, but he had consciously chosen to fall for it. 

James was out at a job interview.He said he wouldn’t be gone long; he could see the nerves creeping up on Steve and knew he needed to be home.Steve laid down on the living room floor and stared up at the drywall.

 

STEVE: _This might be a mistake._

SAM: _Having second thoughts?_

STEVE: _Yes._

SAM: _Any particular reason?_

STEVE: _Seems like the world is a lot more complicated than Hydra and Nazis these days._

 

Steve held the phone, looking at the ellipses that indicated Sam was typing.An old fear was clawing its way into his belly.Right after the serum, when Erskine was killed and it become clear that Steve wasn’t going to see the front lines if the government had their way, Howard said something that never left him.

_Did you read those papers you signed, Steve?_

He had.They reduced him to little more than government property.Bucky would have ripped out his hair if he knew what Steve agreed to for the simple _chance_ of being healthy and strong and able to fight.He was naive enough, then, to believe they would never actually treat him like property.

Waking up to that farce in 2012, with the wrong game on the radio and Nick Fury’s willingness to deceive on full display, well, that shook his certainty. 

 

SAM: _Just because you go back doesn’t mean you have to stay.You can quit anytime if it isn’t the right thing.And it doesn’t make you a failure._

STEVE: _I’m not worried about being a failure.I’m worried that they won’t let me leave._

SAM: _They don’t have any say in it._

STEVE: _Actually, Sam, they do._

 

 

 

He called Sam.Explained everything.James came home while he was on the phone and he let them talk, hovering around the edges as he made lunch.Steve knew he was listening to every word.In fact, he put it on speaker so he could.

“What you have to do, Steve, is demand to renegotiate your contract.”

“How do I do that?”

“You tell Fury you’re not doing shit until that’s done.”

Steve chewed the inside of his lip.“What if he says no?”

“Then you don’t go back to work.”

“What if they force me to?”

Sam huffed out an incredulous laugh.“You gonna let ‘em?”

“I mean, obviously I can fight them off if they come for me—” there was a clang as James dropped a plate in the kitchen, “but I don’t want to have to run from my own government.”

“Steve,” Sam said, and his voice was hard, “if that happens, you run and you don’t look back.” 

He would.He didn’t want to, didn’t want that life for himself or for James, but he would not be forced to do what SHIELD or the government wanted if he didn’t feel it was right. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sam continued, de-escalating like the pro he was.“I won’t tell you not to be prepared for every eventuality, but the road starts with calling Fury and telling him you want your contract renegotiated.Get lawyers involved if you have to.Some contract you signed in 1942 should not still be valid now, especially when you were declared legally dead.Laws have changed.They can’t treat lab mice better than you.You’re a person and if they refuse to recognize that, we’re done.”

“We?” he asked, a smile crossing his face for the first time in hours.

“Yeah, we.They’re gonna have a number of pissed off people standing between them and you if they try any funny stuff.”

“Sam, I…I don’t think words exist—”

“Save it.Call Fury.Don’t you dare set foot in SHIELD HQ until you have a new contract.You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.Now go peel your boyfriend off the ceiling, I know he was ear hustling.He’s so damn nosy.”

“Am not,” James muttered.

 

 

 

Predictably, Fury wasn’t thrilled with his demands, but there was less of a fuss than Steve expected.Sam was right about a lot of things.Not only that, upon rereading, Steve realized that Erskine had enough input in the contract to soften its implications.The doctor had really cared for him, as much as a man willing to risk the death of good men and the creation of monsters in the name of science could.

One week after his original start date, he walked in the door of the Triskelion in full ownership of himself, with the same rights as everyone else.It didn’t ease every worry, but it sure as hell made him sure that, if, a week or a month or a year from now, he needed to walk away, he could.And he _would_.

With that in mind, he strapped into his new suit - dark blue, understated, functional - and hit the ground running.

 

 

 

James knew, about six weeks in, that things were not good at work.Little by little Steve’s tension ratcheted up, forming knots in his shoulders that had not been there since the very early days of their relationship.He frowned more, slept less, didn’t touch his sketchbook.Occasionally he was too distracted for sex.And he started doing that thing again, where he woke up in the middle of the night and reached reflexively for his shield like an attack was coming.

The first time James asked him about it, Steve said he was adjusting, he’d talked to Roz about it and everything would be fine.

The second time he just sighed.

The third time he looked James in the eye and said, “I think they’re lying to me.”

“About what?” he asked.

“I don’t know.I don’t think it’s different than before.I think _I’m_ different.Or maybe just…less caught up in other things.”

That made sense.Steve had been so overwhelmed when he woke.One tended to miss the subtleties when just getting through the day was a struggle. 

“Why would they lie to you?”

“Because they know I wouldn’t agree with whatever they’re working on.I expect that from Nick, but Natasha…”

“No,” James said, stunned at the implication.“She wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I want to believe that,” he said, and he looked forlorn.The thought of her keeping things from him - that _hurt_.

“Why the hell would they want you back at work if you wouldn’t support whatever they were doing?Seems like it would be easier to let you quit.”

“They want to have their cake and eat it, too,” Steve said wearily.“Same as always.”

 

 

 

If there was one bright spot to come out of Steve returning to work at SHIELD, it was the press conferences.It was clear that the news outlets were more interested in Steve’s sexuality than anything else.Though it was pretty obvious that he and James were a couple, neither ever spoke to reporters beyond pleasantries or confirmed anyone’s suspicions, and that drove the media _crazy_. Instead of asking real questions at the press conferences, they asked him if he was gay, if he was bi, if he was experimenting, what kind of message did it send if Captain America had sex with men - like somehow he’d be more inclined to answer that bullshit at work.Natasha and Maria just sat there looking annoyed on Steve’s behalf, and Nick Fury looked bored out of his mind.

And Steve, he could only be polite for so long.James knew that some of the questions got to him, in particular the ones about whether he was experimenting or going through a phase.It annoyed the hell out of him.James wasn’t surprised when, on live television, Steve finally lost his patience and answered that question with the amount of sarcasm it deserved.

“Well, considering I’ve been sleeping with men since 1936, it would be a really long experiment.Moving on - are there any _relevant_ questions?”

It was network gold.Beyond that, it struck a nerve.#Reallylongexperiment trended for weeks, with thousands of people posting pictures with their significant others of anywhere from a few months to seventy years.Apparently he wasn’t the only one fed up with a core part of who he was being dismissed as nothing more than a phase.

Then, when asked by some moronic reporter if being homosexual impacted his ability to do his job, Steve casually reminded the entire world that he did not, in fact, perform any of his job duties with his penis, but if it was all he had left to fight with, he would.It legitimately broke the internet.The photoshopping and porn parodies were shameful, if hilarious.

Lest his message be missed, Steve released a long statement about how sexuality was not an indicator of competence in _any_ part of life, and how there were members of the LGBT community in every profession that existed whether people knew it or not.He highlighted the sacrifices and contributions of those people in the military, the medical field, science, literature, and more.He ended by saying that if anyone cared that they were being protected or rescued by a gay man they could go right ahead and let him know, and he’d be more than happy to hold off so they could wait for a straight person to bail them out.If they survived that long.

The only questions he wouldn’t touch were the ones about Bucky.It surprised James at first.He didn’t see the harm in saying _yes, we were lovers_.But Steve didn’t feel it was his right to out him.There was a legacy at stake, one he wouldn’t jeopardize.Besides, Steve was here to deal with the fallout; Bucky wasn’t, and he didn’t want to put that on any family he might have left.James understood, but he rather thought the media had already drawn their own conclusions.

There were, of course, a few crazy people who called for Steve to give up the shield and be stripped of his rank because he dared to like men.Steve didn’t pay them any mind, except to tell a Washington Post reporter that it was a darn shame that the Good Lord gave those people brains and this was how they chose to use them.

The public ate it up.The sassier he was, the more they loved him - as if they had not already.Well, except the social and religious conservatives, but that was to be expected.Steve was doing _wonders_ for the community, just as James knew he would, and watching him find his place as an out gay man in the world was truly a pleasure.

It didn’t fix everything, but it sure helped.

 

James closed his textbook and rubbed his eyes.He’d studied enough for tonight.He was taking two pre-requisite classes that he needed to apply to the veterinary medicine program in the fall.It had been a while since he had to think this hard, especially after working all day.

He heard Steve talking to Kate in the hallway.Their neighbor was lovely, so lovely that James didn’t mind the weird little zing of chemistry between her and Steve.She seemed to be on the shy side, anyway; she was forever evading their invitations to come over. 

Steve unlocked the door, dropped his things, and then came over to the couch to kiss him on the forehead.

“How’s Peggy?” James asked.

“Good.Feisty today.Told me to stop moping.”

“Have you been moping?” 

“Super Soldiers don’t mope.They brood stoically.” 

“Right, silly me,” he said, smiling.Peggy had a way of re-centering Steve, most days.

Steve toed off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch next to him.His body sagged with fatigue.James could see the very faint outline of a bruise on his jaw.He never asked because he didn’t want to know.

“I think I want to go to that exhibit at the Smithsonian,” Steve said suddenly.

“Really?”

“Yeah.It occurred to me that I have a duty to make sure they’re portraying things the right way.”

James didn’t say what he was thinking - that sometimes the museums and history books didn’t want to portray how things really were.They’d royally fucked up with Steve, at any rate.He hadn’t been to the Smithsonian exhibit.Why would he need to go, when the real deal was right here?Of course, that meant that he had no idea what they were in for.

“You wanna go as us, or incognito?” James asked.It was kind of funny that his life had become such that this was a question they asked one another at least once a week, if not more.

“Incognito,” he said right away.“If something pisses me off I don’t want to have to play nice.”

“Fair enough.”

 

 

 

There were only two things that Steve took issue with, but they were big things.One, the blue wool jacket on the mannequin that they touted as the original that Bucky had worn throughout the war. 

“It’s not the original,” Steve said, voice flat.“He died in the original.”

And he would know.It was such a small liberty to take, but he was hamstrung by it.

Then there was the matter of Bucky’s bio saying he enlisted.

“He was drafted,” Steve seethed.They both knew it said otherwise because it seemed braver, more patriotic somehow.But, like Steve said, was dying for your country not heroic enough?So what if he didn’t enlist?He still went when his country needed him and fought with everything he had.

James had to admit, looking at the pictures, that James 'Bucky' Buchanan had been a good looking man.Even the ravages of war and torture didn’t rob him of his looks.Though he could see where some of the spirit had faded in the comparison of pictures from 1941 to 1945.It was surprising, though, to see him and Steve laughing together in some of the film reels.He had imagined their time in the war after breaking up to be hellishly tense and awkward.

“Oh, it was,” Steve assured him as they chewed on lunch after leaving the museum.“But we had to work together.There was no other choice.And we were friends before.Just because we weren't together anymore didn’t mean we forgot how to be friends.Though I think we were much quicker to say hurtful things and mean them.”He sighed.“It was pretty terrible sometimes, but I don’t regret it.”

“If he had lived and you both made it home from the war…”

“I don’t indulge that line of thought.Seems like a good way to go crazy.”

James nodded.He supposed it wasn’t much different from the line of thought where he said to himself _if I had done one thing different that day, left earlier or later, stopped for a coffee, maybe I’d still have my arm._ In fact, that was a good metaphor for the whole thing; the breakup had been like losing a limb.There was still _something_ left, and it healed and Steve adapted, but that didn’t mean it never hurt or that he didn’t miss what had been there. 

“Besides,” Steve murmured, “I would have married Peggy.And I think he knew that.Maybe even wanted it.”A fragile smile touched his lips.“Then I’d be someone else’s problem.”

“I think he was full of shit,” James said.Something about the way he looked at Steve in those movies…it didn’t sell him on irreconcilable differences.Steve glanced up at his words, and he seemed to be bracing himself, but James wasn’t in attack mode.“I think he wanted you back and he was jealous of Peggy, but didn’t want to ruin it for you.” 

Steve shrugged.“We’ll never know.”

“No.But it would be nice if one day you stopped beating yourself up over it.”

“It would, wouldn’t it.” 

“Any time you’re ready,” James said, gently irreverent, “I’ll light a candle with you.”

Steve was smiling.“I bet you will.”

 

 

 

The next day a call came in from New York, forwarded on by Tony.The NYPD was calling, looking for the Steve that had spoken to them a few months ago about Ben Deacon.Someone was pressing charges, alleging that Ben had spiked his drink and raped him while he was unconscious.He had a rape kit and blood tests rife with GHB to prove it.Somehow, that wasn’t enough to guarantee the outcome.The lawyers wanted everyone who had called in with a complaint to testify in court, to establish that this was a pattern.That Ben really _was_ a predator.

Steve didn’t even hesitate.He said yes, asked the officer when and where they needed him, and told Fury he would be away for a few days.James got permission to Skype into his lectures so he could go with him.No chance in hell he was going to miss supporting Steve in this.He acted like it was a no brainer, like it was easy, but James knew that it wasn’t.

 

 

 

Both the lawyers and the police looked starstruck and confused as hell when he walked in.Steve tried to rein in his impatience and said, “Hi.Steve.Here for the Deacon case.”

“Steve,” the detective repeated slowly.

“Yeah.Steve Rogers.”

“Steve _Rogers._ ” 

He looked at the lawyers, a man and a woman; maybe they were capable of more than just repetition?He hoped so, because it wasn’t going to go well in court if they weren’t.The man snapped out of it first.A smile broke across his face, naked and disbelieving, but it quickly twisted into something offended and incredulous and _angry._

“You’re the Steve who called in?” he asked, as everyone else in the room caught up.

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Holy shit,” the lawyer sighed.

 

 

 

They saved Steve for last, knowing exactly what impact he would have on the jury.They’d prepped him well, made it excruciatingly clear that the defense would try to do anything to discredit him, to make him look bad.He had to keep his temper in check.He had to stick to whatever questions were asked.Deep breaths, count to ten, tunnel vision.Question, answer.Just like they’d rehearsed.

Steve didn’t seem nervous.Just determined.Like the whole world had narrowed to this and damned if he wasn’t going to hit a fucking grand slam.His intensity was scary in a good way.

Still, as he took the stand, his eyes found James.James nodded.Steve took a deep, cleansing breath.Thankfully this was closed to the press; only people who belonged there were allowed in the courtroom.Somehow Tony had convinced the lawyers that he was part of that contingent and they knew better than to fight him on it.

Tony couldn’t sit still.James was pretty sure Tony wanted to do some vigilante justice on the defendant, and he didn’t even know what the guy had done to Steve.Not that knowing would dial it down.But there was no turning back now.

The prosecution’s questions were simple and straightforward.Steve described how he’d met Ben, their interactions and brief relationship, bolstered with receipts and text messages to prove it all.Then he talked haltingly about the night he had realized Ben removed the condom.He made it very clear he had not consented to that, and that Ben showed a complete lack of empathy or shame at being called out.Then his own discovery that what had been done to him was only considered ‘rape-adjacent’, and there was nothing he could do except hope Ben had not given him an STI, life-threatening or otherwise.He spoke a little bit about his extended time in therapy and his sabbatical from work; while this was not the primary cause for either, it had certainly caused him pain and anguish.

There was a vein popping at Tony’s temple.If this made him mad, cross-examination might give him an aneurysm.Nothing was sacred in rape cases; the lawyers had made sure to emphasize that.The defense attorneys didn’t give a shit if he was Mother Theresa.It was their job to try to rip Steve apart.

And they did.There were expected questions. _Are you sure you didn’t consent to unprotected sex?Did you consent and then change your mind?Were you drinking?Could Mr. Deacon have taken your enjoyment of sex with him as consent?Could the condom have broken?You like rough sex, don’t you, couldn’t the condom have broken?Do you like ‘barebacking’, Captain Rogers?You expect us to believe Captain America could be taken advantage of by a regular person?Why didn’t you report it right away?Why did you wait so long to get tested?Isn’t it true that this is an attempt at blackmail for Mr. Deacon’s silence regarding your sexual proclivities?_

That was fucking laughable, since the whole world knew the broader points of Steve’s sexual proclivities by now.That was more or less what Steve said a moment later. 

“Look,” he went on, somehow unruffled, “back then I was afraid to be outed because in my time it would ruin a person, maybe even get them killed.I was terrified of people knowing, so, if anything, he was blackmailing _me._ But I know for a fact he was running his mouth, anyway.I heard him in a bar telling people.  He didn't know I was there.The point is, there was no silence.And if anyone wants to know anything about my _proclivities,_ please ask.I’m under oath.”

He would not get turned on in the courtroom.Absolutely not.No matter how fucking badass Steve was in his very nice suit and take-no-shit expression.

“How many sexual partners did you have prior to meeting Mr. Deacon?”

“Oh, we’re up to the slut shaming portion of the program already?” Steve said, impossibly casual.  "Do you want me to include partners from the thirties and forties, or just the twenty-first century?"

“Answer the question, Captain Rogers,” the judge said, but he was struggling to keep a straight face.  "The twenty-first century will do."

Steve squinted for a moment, mentally tallying.“Eighteen,” he answered.

“You couldn’t have been too terrified of being outed, Captain Rogers, if you slept with eighteen people,” the defense attorney drawled.“Any one of those eighteen people could have let slip that they had gay sex with Captain America.”

“Yeah, they could have, except that they were good people.I asked them not to say anything and they respected that.”Steve made a face.“Being closeted doesn’t mean you’re dead.”

“Clearly not,” the lawyer sniffed.“We’ve established a pattern of promiscuity that you openly admit to.Did you have unprotected sex with any of these other people?”

“No.I always made it clear that nothing was going to happen without the proper precautions.Feel free to contact all eighteen of them, I can give you their information.I may be chronologically displaced, but I’m not stupid.”

There were a few chuckles among the jury.Steve had them wrapped around his finger with his earnestness and his refusal to be cowed.

“Is it true that you made a sex tape with one of your partners?”

“What’s true is that my partner’s roommate filmed both of us without our knowledge or consent and posted it online.”Where Steve got his patience, James didn’t know. 

“What sex acts did you perform in this video?”

“ _Are you fucking kidding me with this shit,”_ Tony hissed next to him.That throbbing vein in his temple had tripled in size.James pinched his leg and Tony let out the breath he’d imprisoned in his lungs.

“Objection,” the prosecutor said, “relevance?”

“Sustained,” the judge agreed.“Is there a point to this line of questioning?”

The defense attorney plowed on.“Captain Rogers, do you have unprotected sex with your current boyfriend, James Barnes?” 

Steve just frowned, like it was the dumbest question anyone had ever asked him.James knew for a fact that it wasn’t.

“Yes.But we’re in a committed, monogamous relationship and decided to do so only after both being tested and having an adult conversation about it.”

If the defense was looking to score points with that they failed; he could see members of the jury nodding to themselves.They had nothing more to throw at Steve.He thought maybe it was done, but the prosecution decided to do some redirect examination.

“Captain Rogers, thank you for your patience.If you could, will you give the jury a little insight as to why you sought out sex after waking up in the twenty-first century?”

For the first time, Steve hesitated.

“I know it’s difficult,” she prompted.“Please?”

He took a breath and set his shoulders.“I was _alone_.Everyone I knew and loved was gone.My _world_ was gone.I felt…ten steps behind everyone, all the time.Like I could exist but not really connect.I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like a ghost, or an inconvenience, or a burden.I felt that way, and I also felt this overwhelming pain and sadness that nothing seemed to help.But I knew how to talk to people, and that I was somewhat attractive, so I thought maybe…maybe I could distract myself.For a half an hour, I could feel good, and like I shared something with someone.It helped.So yeah, I had a lot of sex.”

“Would you say you were vulnerable during this time?”

He nodded.“Yes.”

“Do you think that Mr. Deacon knew that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Nothing further, your honor.”

 

 

 

The jury came back fast.Ben was found guilty of first degree rape and sentenced to twenty years in prison.Steve knew it wasn’t the maximum sentence and he’d be eligible for parole long before that, but as rape sentences went, it was (absurdly) on the harsher side.The judge cited the obvious intent in Ben’s actions and the pattern of sexual assault - exactly what the prosecution had wanted to show. 

So it was a victory, but it would always feel a little hollow.The mood had been quiet since they made their way back to the Tower.Tony was pouring whiskey at an alarming rate.Steve got up and caught his hand as he made to toss another one back.He pried the glass from his fingers and set it down.

“It’s okay.I’m okay.”

“The whole fucking time—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter!You were under my roof, sitting across from me at the goddamn dinner table every night and _I didn’t see!”_

The funny thing about seeing, Steve knew, was that you had to be _looking_.And the one being looked at, he had to want to be seen.

“And here I am being fucked up about things like _I’m_ the one who got hurt—” 

He took hold of Tony’s shoulders, gave him a little shake.“Enough. _Enough_.It took us a while to get here but you’ve got my back and I’ve got yours and nothing is going to change that.We’re brothers.Got it?”

Tony blinked at him so long that Steve almost asked him if he was having a seizure.But right when he opened his mouth, Tony snapped out of it and lurched forward to hug him so hard his ribs hurt.It was a fast, fierce hug, and when it was done Tony was away from him like a shot, dancing around him to dump that last bit of whiskey down his throat.Then he retreated, unable to tolerate the ugly-beautiful emotions anymore.

Steve blew out a sigh and turned to James.His eyebrows were raised.

“That man,” he said, “is a bag of crazy sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied with a smile.“But he’s a really good guy.”He looked up at the ceiling.“Hey JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Don’t let Tony do anything stupid.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, sir.”

James snickered, and Steve wondered how many times both Happy and Pepper had given that exact command to JARVIS.

“Don’t let him take matters into his own hands as it relates to Benjamin Deacon.”

Tony’s voice crackled over the intercom.“Aw, come on.You mean I can’t send him a meatloaf full of tiny razorblades?”

Steve laughed.“No, Tony.” 

“You are just no fun at all.”

“That’s me.Steve ‘No Fun’ Rogers.”

James stood up and wrapped himself around Steve’s back.“I think you’re fun.”

“Tell me more,” Steve hummed.

“It’s _really_ fun when you put your—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Tony yelled.

 

 

 

He parted ways with Steve after their morning coffee tradition, James on his way to class and Steve to meet up with Sam for a run around the Mall.That run usually consisted of Sam cursing Steve creatively every time he lapped him, which, somehow, they both enjoyed enough to do it twice a week.James was struggling with some nasty organic chemistry when the text from Steve came through.

 

STEVE: _Heading out on a mission with Nat.Pirates or something._

JAMES: _Far away?_

STEVE: _Flight’s about 5.5 hours, as the very fast jet flies._

JAMES: _Think you’ll be back soon?_

STEVE: _Hopefully.Seems straightforward and the STRIKE team is with us._

JAMES: _Be safe.Tell Nat, too.Love you._

STEVE: _Love you, too.I’ll text if I can._

 

 

 

He was gone less than 24 hours.He wasn’t injured when he got back, not visibly, but his face told James everything he needed to know.

“What is it?” 

Steve sat down and rubbed a hand over his face.“I was right.About all of it.”

James wasn’t sure what he meant, so he waited.

“Nat had a different mission than me.She didn’t say anything.My second in command and my _friend_ lied to me and almost got our asses blown up.And then…”

James moved closer to him in the pause, a mindless panic crawling up the inside of his ribs.In a way, it was good that Steve usually couldn’t give him many details about his missions because they were classified.The less he knew about the dangers Steve faced, the better.To hear him say things got hairy and that it was Natasha’s fault - that was _bad._

“I had it out with Fury about it.I know whatever orders she had came from him.I can’t lead if people on my team have secret objectives.So he decided to let me in on the secret.”Steve blew out a breath.James could see that he was debating with himself about what he could and could not say; like everything else, this was classified.“They’re in the final phase of a project.Have you…” he chose his words carefully, “have you ever seen that movie Minority Report?”

He had, years ago, and had only the vaguest memory of what it was about.But what he did remember centered around the fact that part of the plot involved a system that punished people for crimes they had not yet committed - crimes they were _predicted_ to commit.

“They can do that?” James said in disbelief.But was it really so far-fetched?He knew that there were more people out there with incredible abilities like Steve, some natural-born and some man-made.Why _couldn’t_ there be psychics who predicted crime?

“It’s not exactly the same, but it’s just as bad.”Steve was visibly distressed and looked like he wanted to say more.Anything he revealed to James, though, could potentially endanger him.“They _knew_ I wouldn’t agree with it so they just lied by omission.No wonder nobody kicked up a fuss that I was out of work for so long.Gave them the time they needed to get this together without a star-spangled fly buzzing around their heads.”

“Can you stop it?”

Steve rested his elbows on his knees and raked his hands through his hair.“Nick seems pretty determined to go through with it.He didn’t want to hear my objections.Told me I need to _get with the program_.”

“Then keep objecting.Do it over and over and over until they can’t ignore you.”

“I’m just one person, James.”

“You’re Captain America.”

The muscles in his face wavered, twitching through mingled expressions that weren’t quite nameable.Then he looked up at James, a pained, paradoxical smile stretching his lips. 

“I’m obsolete.”

 

 

 

_I didn’t want you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with._

 

_Agent Romanov is comfortable with everything._

 

_Eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute._

 

_Neutralize threats before they happen._

 

_Take the world as it is, not as we’d like it to be._

 

Was this what the world was, now?A place full of countries that paid lip service to peace while developing weapons that could commit genocide at the touch of a button?

No, no.This was what they’d always been.Muskets, machine guns, mustard gas, atomic bombs - this was just the next step.How long before the intent to protect evolved into intent to _control_?And why could no one else see the danger, glaring bright enough to burn?

Sure, since 1945 no one had set off an atomic bomb as anything other than a test.The fear of destroying the world kept the governments of the world in check.But it was only a matter of time before someone crazy enough to use a weapon that awful came to power, or before someone stole one and set it off to make a point.Project Insight was no different.

They already used drones to strike military targets.Steve knew that civilians also lost their lives from above, bombed for the simple crime of living in the same place as someone who had made an enemy of a foreign government.Just collateral damage, except that collateral damage went on to feed a spiral of hatred and vengeance that perpetuated the cycle.When you had the power to kill thousands from afar without having to look at their faces as they died…

It wasn't pretty to watch people die.Nasty stuff, as Nick said.But at least the stickiness of blood and the ferric scent, the last trace of fear or defiance in a man’s eyes, the gasping, rattling breaths before silence…you never forgot.You never forgot the toll it took not just on the dying, but on the living.You never forgot the horrid weight of playing God.Of snuffing out life that would have gone on without your influence.

If they did this, killing would become easy.That was what frightened Steve most of all.Nick talked about it like it was a victory, something worth celebrating.There was no part of murder no longer being taboo that was worth celebrating.Because even if some of the people picked off by Insight’s long range guns were murderers themselves, many would have committed no crime at all.

He felt as those men in the Manhattan Project must have.As _Howard_ must have.Steve knew that he consulted on the atomic bomb and had never cared to touch any feelings he had on the subject.This was the first time thought about what Howard must have felt, poised on the brink of something so ruinously incredible.He could only imagine what it was like afterwards.Was there something stronger or more maddening than guilt?

He didn’t want to know.Every part of him screamed _stop this, Steve, stop it so innocent people don’t die, so George Orwell doesn’t rise from his grave and laugh at us as we walk around with little bullseyes on the backs of our skulls._ But how could he?How could he when no one agreed with him?When everyone, as Sam would say, _drank the Kool-Aid?_

“Steve?”

He looked up at James.Tried to focus.A familiar ache had settled into his bones.

James stepped forward and took his hand.

“Come on, Steve,” he said softly.“We’re going to see Peggy.”

 

 

 

Usually, going to see Peggy was the right thing to do.But since the world was often cruel, today it only made things worse.She was having a bad day.After about ten minutes’ conversation with Steve, her brain lost its thread of memory.Her eyes went wide and she saw Steve for the first time instead of the hundredth.She burst into tears. 

Steve looked sad enough to break apart, but he smiled for her and explained things gently and patiently, and sat with her until the fatigue of so much emotion made her doze off.

 

 

 

Sometimes Steve wondered if his brain and body would age at the same rate, if they would age at all, or if someday he would be mentally lost in a young man’s body like that goddamn Benjamin Button character.He wasn’t sure which was worse.To never age at all, or to slowly lose his mind.Then again, maybe losing your mind made it easier to eventually die.If you could barely hold a thought in your head, chances were that you didn’t spend much time contemplating what came next. 

Maybe Peggy wasn't thinking about dying.Maybe each minute, made new by an aged brain, was a thing of wonder.He tried to find the silver lining in cognitive decay but right now his mental resources were exhausted.All Steve could think about was the expectation others always held when he’d first awakened, the assumption that he found everything beautiful and amazing and _better_ , when really all he wanted was to close his eyes and be either dead or _home_.

They were kind of the same thing, these days.

James was pulling into the VA parking lot.Steve put up no protest.Even if he couldn’t say much of anything to Sam about the fucking murdercraft SHIELD planned to put in the sky, his presence was always comforting.

 

 

 

Sam was running a group and Steve fell asleep in the armchair in his office practically the second he sat down.It was then that James remembered he hadn’t slept in almost two days, and had averaged four or five uninterrupted hours a night for weeks before that.He left Steve in the office and went to sit in on Sam’s group.

 

 

He didn’t sleep long.James would have called it a ‘power nap’.Waking up in Sam’s office feeling the way he felt was a potent slap of deja vu; much had happened in a year.He wouldn’t trade the happiness he’d found with James and the other people in his life, but a part of him had always known it wouldn’t stay simple for long.

Sleep had lent him enough mental clarity to try to be rational about Project Insight.Nick kept him in the dark because he knew Steve would loathe the idea, let alone the reality that the government was spending millions, maybe billions, on a global targeting system.In a way it was him trying to be kind.Likely Natasha and Tony, too, because they clearly knew about the project and had never said a word.But what was their grand plan for the day those things went airborne?What were they going to say to him then?

Goodbye, probably.That was why Nick agreed to amend his contract - to give him the out he knew he’d want.God, how he’d been played.

He picked up his phone.

 

STEVE: _You really think this Insight thing is a good idea?_

 

A few minutes passed, but Tony answered him.

 

TONY: _Steve, I swear to you, I didn’t know what they were going to use those engines for when I tweaked the design._  

STEVE: _And when you found out you did nothing._

TONY: _I know it sounds crazy, but this is the right move.Preventing things is better than reacting to them after they’ve already happened._

 

Tony was _so_ smart, but he could lock himself into certain ideas with breathtaking stubbornness _._ That was something they shared.More often than not, they disagreed, as polarized as oil and water.But this, this he did not understand.Where was that suspicious man he’d met in 2012, the one who hacked SHIELD’s systems the second he climbed on board?Where was the man who had tried so hard to distance himself from the weapons manufacturing that had made his fortune?Steve had thought on their first meeting that while Tony was insufferable, at least he was smart enough to question things.At least he was that much like Howard.

Insight’s guns would be trained on their heads same as everyone else’s, and if life had taught Steve anything, it was that the self-destructive power of humanity was second to none.The potential for abuse was just too great.They had already seen SHIELD misstep with the Tesseract; how could Tony think Insight would be any different? 

 

STEVE: _You ever see one of those Hydra weapons in action?The ones powered by the Tesseract?They vaporized people.Literally.Gone.Not even a body.Not even a smudge to mark that there was ever a person there.Your father told me that matter doesn’t disappear, it just changes forms, and that fucked me right up because then I started to think about how maybe I was BREATHING them, running my body on air full of the dead._

 

Tony didn’t reply.What could you say to that, really?

 

STEVE: _You so sure your lungs can take it?_

 

He turned off his phone.There was nothing else to say right now.He had never managed to change Tony’s mind about anything in the past.Only _Tony_ could change Tony’s mind.Maybe Pepper, with the right leverage, but he was certain she didn’t know about Insight.He wasn’t quite ready to risk treason by leaking classified material; however, Steve would do it if he had to.If there was no other way to stop this, he’d commit the crime and do the time, and he’d sleep easy in prison knowing that it had not only spared potential victims, but also those who thought it was worth trading a piece of their soul for some skewed idea of safety.

 

 

 

Steve drifted in during the last fifteen minutes of the group.He looked…less frayed, but also like he had on the witness stand.Grimly determined.Of what, James didn’t know.

He took the seat next to James and reached for his hand.James gave it, and they sat and listened to the evening’s last story of living with PTSD - the woman who thought a plastic bag was an IED while driving and nearly got booked for DUI because every part of her screamed _evasive maneuvers!_

James was thankful that his trauma had never evolved into this.Sure, the first few weeks in the hospital he had nightmares and flashbacks; anyone would.Fortunately, they had tapered off with time.Every now and then he would still jerk awake from a half-remembered dream, heart pounding, but it never haunted his waking hours.Not the way it did for Steve, or for these other people. 

“To be honest, I thought we’d see you at one of these things a lot sooner.”

He looked up; one of the men in the group was addressing Steve.Steve dragged himself up from the depths of his thoughts and replied.

“You didn’t talk about this stuff in my time.It’s taken a while for me to wrap my head around the idea of sitting together and discussing how fucked up we are.”He smiled, wan but genuine, and there were a few chuckles around the circle.

“One of the most powerful and therapeutic realizations out there is the knowledge that you’re not alone,” Sam said.“That other people understand what you’re going through.It can be frightening to admit that you’re struggling, but it helps to know you're in good company.”

“Great company,” the woman said in a small voice. 

Steve’s hand tightened around his, and he looked down at his knees for the rest of the meeting.

 

They’d gone out with Sam after the group, nothing fancy, just burgers and beer.Sam knew something was wrong, but as usual he didn’t press it, and Steve didn’t volunteer anything.There was something to be said for the restorative power of friends and food, though; by the time they realized it was almost eleven, Steve had upgraded from Saddest Man On Earth mode to Mildly Troubled Super Soldier mode.

Steve, world’s most reliable DD, drove home.He had run out of words for a while, so James turned on the radio to the jazz station that he liked.Steve offered him an appreciative smile and squeezed his thigh, leaving his hand to rest there for the remainder of the ride.

Kate was struggling to talk to someone on the phone and drag her laundry basket up from the basement when they got home; Steve picked it up for her and carried it the rest of the way.She managed to hang up by the time they made it to her door.

“Thank you,” she said, a little flustered.“My aunt, she’s kind of an insomniac.Calls me at all hours.”

“Offer stands to use our machine,” James said, smiling, knowing she’d decline like she always did.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t impose.Besides, you don't want my scrubs in your machine.I just finished orientation on the infectious disease ward.”

“Well, wouldn’t want have to go into quarantine.”

“Definitely not,” she agreed, fishing her keys out of her pocket and unlocking her door.She hesitated after nudging the basket through the door.“Oh, I think you guys left your stereo on.Mr. Griggs from downstairs has already been up to complain.Don’t be surprised if he pays you a visit in the morning.”

The moment she said it, James was suddenly aware of the music issuing from their apartment.It was the very same station they’d just turned off in the car.

“Thanks, Kate,” Steve said.His first words in thirty minutes, edged in that same awareness.

“Thank _you,”_ she replied with a smile, and shut her door.

Steve’s eyes met his.They both knew, unequivocally, that neither of them had left the stereo on.Someone was in their apartment.

Steve dropped into a crouch and lifted his pantleg.He almost never carried a weapon outside of work, but he had consciously not removed the ankle holster earlier, when he changed and they went to see Peggy.He slid the gun out and up, clicking off the safety.

“Stay back,” he said, a barely audible exhalation.James nodded. 

Steve’s hands were steady as he unlocked the door.He had shifted into something calm and lethal and automatic.Soldier mode.James watched him; he had never seen him like this before, except that one blurry time, delirious with pain.

The door opened and the music spilled out, louder.

 

_You’ll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you_

_Or just how empty they all seemed without you_

_So kiss me once_

_Then kiss me twice_

_Then kiss me once again_

_It’s been a long, long time._

 

Harry James.Steve liked this one.As the horns swelled, he stepped through the door.James moved forward as if by magnetism, already having forgotten his promise to stay back.Steve gave him a look, but just crouched again to pick up the shield, which he always stashed right by the door, like he’d somehow forget it on his way out in the morning.Then he held the gun out.

_Cover me_ , he mouthed.

Sure.Cover Captain America.Because that wasn’t way out of his league. 

James took a steadying breath.He knew how to shoot.His father was a gun enthusiast, insofar as he liked to hunt and go to the shooting range occasionally with a rifle or two, and he’d always owned a handgun on the off chance that anyone would ever find their home interesting enough to invade.James had never minded tagging along on his excursions.He was a pretty good shot, at least when he had two hands, and Natasha had given him a few refresher lessons with one.

He didn’t have to shoot anyone, though.As they approached the living room, Steve dropped his guard.There was a man in black in the chair near the stereo.James recognized him as Nick Fury.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Steve said, irritated.

“You really think I’d need one?” Fury responded.

 

 

 

Steve felt annoyance bubble in his veins.Why the hell was Nick here?To give him another inspiring pep talk?And why was he sitting in the dark listening to jazz?And of course that fucking cat, the one named after him, was in his lap purring.The same cat that still hissed and clawed at Steve if he came too near.

He turned on the light and his annoyance evaporated.Nick looked like shit.He was bruised and bloody and guarding the arm that was not petting his namesake like it was broken.James drew a sharp breath behind him, having noticed the same.Steve flipped the light switch back down, mind racing.He held up a finger to Nick - _just a minute -_ and turned to James.

He herded him back out the door.Pulled the holster from his own ankle and fixed it around James’s before reseating the gun there.Then he stood up and took him by the shoulders.

“Go to Sam’s,” he said.

 

 

 

“But—” he heard himself protest.

Steve’s eyes were hard and uncompromising.“Go to Sam’s,” he repeated.“ _Now_.”

Captain America was giving him an order.That was what told him how serious the situation might be.Well, that and the fact that Steve’s boss looked like he’d barely made it out of one hell of a fight.He didn’t like the guy being ballsy enough to come to Steve for protection after flat-out lying to him from the moment he woke up, but his gut told him it wasn’t as simple as that.Steve needed time and space to figure this out without having to worry about protecting James.

He swallowed heavily, nodded, and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek.James forced himself to turn and walk away.Down the steps, out the door, very aware of the weight of the gun against his ankle.It was too late for the Metro, but the late night buses were still running.It would be a little walk to Sam’s from where the bus dropped him off; that would give him time to call and explain why he was coming over in the first place.

It was when he was on the bus that it hit him.He had not told Steve he loved him before he left.Of course he knew, they said it all the time, but some dark fear inside him screamed _what if you don’t get another chance?_ He closed his eyes against it and willed himself to breathe until his stop came up.Then James stumbled from the bus and dialed Sam with a shaky hand.

“Hey, man.Everything okay?”

He knew.He always knew.

James tried to make his voice sound even as he began to walk. “Funny you should ask.I’m on my way to your place.”

“Just you?” Sam said, after the slightest pause.

“Just me.”

“Did you and Steve—”

“No.It’s…he’s…I can’t explain fully over the phone…”He was failing so hard at trying to sound calm.

“Where are you?” Sam demanded.

“Um.Just got off the bus near 14th and Irving.”

“Stay put.I’m coming.If any shady characters come at you, duck in that Target over there.”

“Or I could just shoot them, Steve gave me his gun,” he rambled nervously.

“What?Jesus.Stay on the line.Don’t you hang up.I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

 

 

Sam was there in ten, with two different sneakers on.

 

 

Sam paced.James sat on his couch listening to his heart pound.

“He really said it was like Minority Report?” Sam asked.

James nodded.

“I can’t believe…”

“Neither can I.”

“And Fury was…” Sam trailed off.“Shit.There was something on the news before group.A chase between cops and an armored vehicle that wrecked traffic right in the middle of rush hour.Shots were fired.It was a mess.Couple people that usually come to the group couldn’t make it because of that.Think it’s related?”

“It could be.But why would anyone go after him?He’s gung-ho about this project, told Steve he had to get with the program.”

Sam shook his head.“You’re right.It doesn’t make sense.He text you back yet?”

“No.”

“Look, Steve is the best, most highly trained soldier in the world.He’s going to be okay.He just needs time to do what he needs to do.We can sit here and go crazy, or we can go to bed so we’re not completely useless in the morning.”

He knew Sam was right, so he pretended to try. 

 

 

He managed a few hours of something approximating sleep, but the morning brought nothing good.His phone was still devoid of any communication from Steve, and when he turned on the TV, they were special-reporting outside the Triskelion.

_Nicholas J. Fury, Deputy Director of SHIELD, Assassinated_.

“Early this morning Fury was rushed to the hospital after suffering multiple gunshot wounds.He was immediately taken into surgery, but doctors were unable to save him.Little is known about the circumstances, but sources say Captain America himself was the last person to see Fury alive.”

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” he growled at the television, like it would help the situation.If they were trying to pin the murder on Steve they were going to be disappointed when he marched his ass to the police station and showed them Steve’s service weapon strapped to his ankle.Steve didn’t have the same affinity for firearms that most of his friends did; he only had the one, and it was pretty clear that he preferred the shield.

“We spoke to Agent Jasper Sitwell, assistant to World Security Council Secretary Alexander Pierce, a few minutes ago regarding the situation.”

The camera cut to an earlier scene; a harried-looking bald man with olive skin and glasses that looked like they’d come out of a Lions Club donation bin stood with the same reporter.

“Agent Sitwell, is Captain America a suspect in Nick Fury’s murder?”

He held up his hands.“No, Lisa.No one is trying to suggest that.At this time we don’t really know what happened.Captain Rogers is on his way in for questioning.Which is why, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

James let out the breath he was holding.Okay.Good.Well, not good; somehow Fury had gone from being beat up but alive in their apartment to dead of multiple gunshot wounds.And if there was a shootout, had Steve been hit?Was he hurt?Why wouldn’t he at least text?

The tension in his chest wouldn’t relent.He wasn’t the only one drawn tight by nerves.When Sam woke up and saw the news, the first thing he did was cancel all his appointments for the day.Then he made breakfast.James barely tasted it.

They orbited one another’s anxiety for a while.An hour passed.Then another.Did it really take that long for questioning?

“And now, breaking news out of the Triskelion.A jet appears to have crashed just outside the facility.An unidentified man was seen fleeing the scene on a motorcycle.Not much is known at this time…”

“Unidentified my ass,” Sam said.It was Steve, in uniform, shield glinting in the sun as he singlehandedly took down the aircraft.It escaped neither man that he did it in a way that the people inside would be able to walk away from.They were both too worried to be impressed. 

“That jet _shot at him_ ,” James said, horrified.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “yeah, it did.This is bad.”

This was really fucking bad.James fumbled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Steve again, hoping, _praying_ that he would pick up.It went straight to voicemail.He didn’t know what else to do; instinct told him to try Natasha, but Steve had said she was lying to him, same as Fury.James didn’t know if he could trust her.

“Hey.”Sam’s hands cupped his face, forcing him to look up.“He got away.He’s not hurt.He’s going to get in touch, I know it.And when he does, he’ll need us.We can’t fall to pieces.Okay?” 

He didn’t know how Sam was so strong, but he was glad one of them could handle the stress.He nodded.Sam held onto him a minute longer and James tried to feed off the practiced calm in his dark eyes.

_People think I’m strong but they’ve never met you_ , Steve said to him once.Right now, he had to be as strong as Steve thought he was.He could do this.He could.He _would_.

 

 

This time Alexander Pierce himself led the press conference.

“By now you’ve all seen the footage of Captain Rogers taking down our jet.He did what we made him to do, and he is every bit as good as they say.”Pierce paused, adjusting his glasses, and James realized that he hated the way he talked about Steve - like he was a tool to be wielded.

“I won’t do you the disservice of trying to keep you in the dark.We still have no reason to believe Captain Rogers killed Nick Fury.However, during questioning this morning, he declined to share all that he knew.He is hiding something from us, from _you_.It pains me to say this because Nick Fury was my friend, but our investigation has, unfortunately, turned up some less than savory details about his activities these last few months.It appears Nick may have been involved in attempting to sell classified intelligence.It’s possible he dragged Captain Rogers into the scheme, as I don’t personally believe he’d ever do such a thing on his own.”

“This guy,” Sam said, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, “is slippery.”

James nodded.This was double talk if ever he heard it; he was accusing Steve of treason, but making him sound like a hapless idiot who had blundered into it.Why was he trying to save face?There was none of that when they were attempting to shoot Steve off his motorcycle earlier.

“Plain and simple, we need to know what he knows, for the safety of the American people. This is problematic, as it seems that Captain Rogers is on the run.He may or may not be in the company of Natasha Romanov, better known as the Black Widow.It’s imperative that if you see either of them, you do not attempt to approach or speak to them.Neither Captain Rogers nor Agent Romanov need to be armed to be dangerous.SHIELD is in pursuit. 

To that end, I am happy to announce that, along with the World Security Counsel, we’ve been working on new surveillance and threat management technology which will aid us greatly in our search.In the next 48 hours you will witness the launch of three state of the art helicarriers, dubbed Project Insight.These helicarriers are linked to satellites which will deliver more and better quality surveillance than we have ever had access to before.This will give us an unprecedented ability to identify and analyze potential threats, and react to them before they reach our shores.Or, in this case, apprehend those threats when they’re already here.”

Sam mashed the mute button on the remote and turned to James.“I thought you said this project wasn’t finished yet.”

“That’s what Steve made it sound like.”

“Well, it’s done if they’re about to launch it,” Sam said gravely.“And they’re using Steve as their justification.”

James blanched.“It’s happening,” he whispered.“He objected to the project, maybe threatened to go public to stop it, and they’re trying to silence him.And Fury, he’s the one who told Steve about it.That’s their classified intelligence.”

“And they’ve already silenced him.”

“It’s a setup,” James said incredulously.“It’s exactly what Steve was afraid of.”

“We should all be afraid.Why the helicarriers if it’s just surveillance?The satellites would do that on their own.”Sam shook his head.“Those things are weapons.”

“What do we do?” James asked.

Sam let out a slow sigh.James could see his mind working feverishly behind his eyes.

“I don’t…I don’t _know_ ,” he admitted at last.“We might be the only people with any idea what’s really happening, but if SHIELD, and by proxy the government, is supporting it, who would we even tell?” 

“The media,” James said with iron certainty.In the last six months he’d learned just how powerful the media could be, for good or ill.“They’ll take it and run.It would force SHIELD to do damage control and delay the launch.Anything else would show their true colors and it doesn’t seem like they want that.”

“That’s why they’re not outright condemning Steve,” Sam muttered.“They still want to be able to use him.”

James snorted.“They must know there’s not a chance in hell he’d cooperate.” 

“I don’t know that they’re interested in asking nicely,” Sam replied, and his eyes lingered just a little too long on James. 

Oh. 

They were very public about their love for one another these days.Anyone with half a brain who wanted Steve to do something he didn’t agree with would go right to the ones he loved.Starting with James.He knew without having to think too much that Steve would do anything to keep him from being hurt.Anything.

“Turn off your phone,” Sam said.“Better yet, give it to me and I’m gonna go dump it.And don’t you dare go out while I’m gone.I guarantee they’re looking for you.”Sam pulled in a steadying breath.“Thank God no one knows who I am.This is the safest place for you.Steve knew that.” 

Sam was right.The second he laid eyes on Fury, Steve knew what was happening, even if he didn’t know the details.He handed over his phone.Sam put it in his pocket, and then he went to the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out a lockbox with a gun in it and several knives.Sometimes he forgot that mild-mannered, always-smiling Sam Wilson was also a certified BAMF.

“What if someone comes while you’re out?” he asked.

“You have Steve’s gun, right?”

He nodded.

“Shoot them,” Sam said, all seriousness.

“And then?”

“Get the hell out of here.Try for Stark.I’ll catch up with you.”

James nodded again, and then Sam was out the door.

 

 

 

He was gone for an hour and grim-faced when he returned.He held out a Wal-Mart bag.It contained a cheap pay-as-you-go phone.A sticker on the box told him his new number: 202-555-1227. 

“I drove by your apartment.The whole block is crawling with SHIELD agents.They’re waiting for you.”

“I hope the cat scratches every last one of them.”James put his hand over his face.“Oh, Jesus.The cat.”

“Nothing you can do, man.He was feral before, he’ll manage now.Speaking of waiting, how long?” Sam asked.

“How long for what?”

“How long are we going to wait for Steve before we go to the media?We can’t assume…”

James closed his eyes against the idea that Steve might not be all right.But that was reality.If SHIELD got to him, they had a responsibility to do everything in their power to prevent Project Insight from launching.

“The next press conference is at 9 am, right?If Steve doesn’t get in touch by then, we start making calls and sending e-mails.”

“Okay.”Sam began to methodically remove the weapons from his clothing - three knives and a gun.He stared at them where they sat on the table.Then he went into the bedroom, dug in a closet, and came out with a Bowie knife.He snapped the sheath around James’s belt, right side, where he could access it quick.“Know how to use that?”

“No.”

“You’re about to learn.”

 

 

 

It turned out that learning how to knife-fight was pretty tiring work, especially with the poor sleep he’d gotten the night before.He was exhausted when they called it a night.James’s head buzzed with everything Sam had taught him - how and where to strike, how to take a slash or stab wound if you had to, how to prevent getting the blade stuck in bone, how to _try_ to stay in a fight when you just had a knife and they had a gun, how to throw a knife and actually hit something.There was still no word from Steve.

He sat down on the couch for one blessed second and woke up eight hours later to fingers tapping against glass.James jerked upright, the knife in his hand almost by reflex.Sam would be proud.

Sam was already awake and one step ahead of him.He approached the sliding door in the back with gun in hand.James dropped the knife back into the sheath and went for Steve’s gun; it would be more useful if they were about to be attacked.He got up and moved to a place where he could cover Sam.They nodded at one another.

Sam peeked out the blinds and looked more relieved than James had ever seen before.He lowered the gun and unlocked the door.There, on the tiny concrete patio, stood Steve and Natasha.They were bruised and dirt-smudged, but otherwise whole.

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Natasha said.

“Not everyone,” Sam replied, and pulled them inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was hoping to get all the way through Winter Soldier in this chapter, but it just kept growing. So here we pause with the table set for chaos.
> 
> Also, didn't realize this until researching for this chapter, but Marvel is a bunch of trolls. That song Fury's listening to in Steve's apartment - those lyrics - right before Bucky's reappearance? Tell me that's not a tease for Stucky shippers.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Leave some love, comments feed the beast. ;)

The only thing James was capable of was throwing himself into Steve’s arms the second Sam relieved him of Natasha.He smelled the same.A little musty, a little tang of blood, but unquestionably Steve.Steve held him, nose pressed into his temple, until James squeezed him a little too hard and a sound of pain escaped him.

James let go, searching him frantically for injury.“What—”

“Ribs,” he ground out. 

“Sorry.I’m sorry.I—”

He never finished, because Steve’s lips slotted over his and _wow_.He could only blink when Steve pulled back a fraction of an inch, leaving them forehead to forehead.

“Help me get cleaned up,” he said.

 

 

As it turned out, that mostly meant letting Steve lean against him in the shower while the hot water beat the soreness out of his muscles.His entire left side was fantastically bruised from elbow to hip, and there were several faded red welts along his stomach and chest.

“They trapped me in an elevator and tried to shock me into submission,” he mumbled in explanation.“Didn’t work, but there was nowhere else to go.Had to jump 15 stories.” 

“Don’t leave out the part where you threw yourself on top of me to keep me from being crushed by man-sized chunks of concrete,” Natasha said from three feet away, where she stood at the vanity stitching up a cut on her forehead.Sam only had one bathroom and circumstances were such that no one cared about modesty at the moment.So there she was, prickly as hell, but James understood it; she was trying to cope, same as the rest of them.She set down the needle and examined her work in the mirror.“You better not use all the hot water.”

“You know, this is the second time this week you’ve almost gotten us blown to hell,” Steve retorted.“You want hot water, get your ass in here.”

“Like I could get any around your damn shoulders,” she snapped.

Incredibly, Steve smiled.Then he reached around James and turned off the shower.

“All yours, Nat.”

 

 

 

Steve was quiet while they dressed, lost in thought.It gave James a moment to appreciate him in the jeans and white tank top that had been the uniform of every boy band in the late 90s, but also of a working man in the 1930s.Sometimes it punched him in the gut, how beautiful Steve was.He was a fucking work of art.

“You know Kate?” he said suddenly, breaking the spell.

“Our neighbor?”

“Yeah.”His lips curled into a bitter smile.“Her name isn’t Kate.It’s Sharon.She’s Agent 13 of SHIELD.Fury set her up right next to us and bugged our apartment.They’ve been spying on us the whole time.”

James blinked, considering the implications.

“Poor woman.”

“What?” Steve demanded.

“She’s been listening to us have sex for _months._ No wonder she could barely look us in the eyes half the time.”

Steve rubbed his temples.“Is that supposed to make me feel better?Because it doesn’t.”He sighed.“James, they know I told you.They heard everything I said the other day, when I was trying to be vague about Insight.They know you know.They’ll come after you.”

“Sam thinks so, too.”He sat next to Steve on the bed.“He thinks they’ll try to use me against you.”

“Don’t let them,” Steve whispered.“Don’t give them the chance.Things go south, you need to get out of here and never look back.”

James swallowed.The thought was exquisitely painful.

“You…you know how hard it is not to look back.”

Steve’s face looked the same way it did when Peggy thought she was meeting him for the first time, but he moved forward to claim James’s mouth.He kissed him hard, with teeth.In seconds the clothing they’d just put on was falling away again.It was absurd to do this now, in the midst of crisis, but he couldn’t stop and neither could Steve.If this was the last ten minutes they ever had alone, they damn well weren’t going to waste it feeling sorry for themselves.

His lips trailed kisses over already-green bruises, his tongue balming the burn-welts where they faded on his belly.He took Steve in his mouth to memorize the taste of him, hot and silken against his tongue, and Steve let him suck for a minute but it wasn’t what he wanted.Fingers tugged at his hair.He eased off, but for a minute all he could do was rest his head on Steve’s belly, trying to etch the feeling into every kind of memory he had.

Steve’s muscles flexed as he pulled James up between his thighs.Then he pitched them sideways so they were face to face, legs entwined.Steve _knew_ this was his favorite, the position that made him feel like they could merge right into one another, and he was instantly delirious.Steve reached down and captured both of their cocks in one broad hand.

“I love you so much,” Steve whispered against his lips.Barely-restrained moans backed up in his throat as Steve stroked them together.It was so simple but so perfect.Especially when they found a slow rhythm, hips rocking, friction all around. 

They were in the same bed Steve had crawled into almost a year ago, lost and wanting, and James was so full up of emotion and love and _terror_ that he absolutely could not last.There wasn’t _time_ to make it last.He gave himself over to the pleasure, to the enveloping heat of Steve’s body and his smell and his eyes, dark with the pleasure of watching him.In no time at all he was keening silently into the salt of his skin as he came with blinding force.

Steve’s breath puffed hot beneath his ear in little gasps as he climaxed a few moments later.It was a long orgasm, and it left him shaky and ragged and exposed.His arms closed convulsively around James, squeezing, fingertips dug in.Like he could become a suit of armor and protect him from everything.Somewhere in the still-functioning part of his mind, James knew that if he could see Steve’s face, it would be wet with tears.

He recovered first and reached for the white tank top.With it, James cleaned their mingled mess.Steve just laid there and panted, the salt tracks on his face undeniable.He didn’t cry from the force of the pleasure, not this time, but James knew that in the long list of the day’s agonies, leaving him was at the top.So he let him be until Sam knocked softly at the door and announced breakfast, if they could stomach that sort of thing.

 

 

All he could think, lying there while James cleaned him and then got dressed and then sat, propping his head in his lap and stroking fingers through his hair, was _at least you got to say goodbye this time._ He didn’t know why he felt so certain that he might not make it out of this one, but his gut churned with intuition and the guilt of possibly taking two good friends with him.But he had to try.All roads led to Insight.

And at least, this time, he had a chance to scent fate on the horizon.To know that he was the one who might fall.Not James.Not this patient, incredible, wholly undeserved soul that cast his lot in with Steve. 

Even so, goodbye was no kind of closure, it seemed.It just left him feeling raw and ripped open, road-rashed across the pavement of life.

James shook him gently.“Hey.”

“Hmm,” he managed, barely audible.

“Sam brought clean clothes.And there’s breakfast.You need to eat.”

Yes.The sex, however quick it was, had used up the last of his energy.The ache of days run on nothing but a granola bar from the glovebox of the car they'd stolen returned to him and it cleared his mind in a cleaving rush.The constant of a man lost in time.Hunger.That, he realized, was why he liked it; 1939 or 2014, small or big, poor or rich, he stayed hungry.It was something that time could not take from him.

He pulled James down into a final kiss and then he rolled out of the bed.By the time he finished dressing, the iron settled back into his spine.He was ready to knock on Hydra’s door once again. 

 

 

 

It was so, so much worse than he imagined.He didn’t know how Steve was keeping it together.Or Natasha, or Sam, for that matter.On the rating scale for bad situations, this was right at the ceiling, ready to burst out into the stratosphere.And it wasn’t over yet. 

If he understood it right, Fury suspected something was sour with Project Insight and hired the pirates Steve and Natasha took care of earlier in the week.It was a feint designed to get Natasha on that ship, the Lemurian Star, to access data he couldn’t get to.He made the mistake of voicing his concerns to Pierce, who was, apparently, the nervous system of modern-day Hydra.The organization Steve had died to destroy, alive and well and holding a finger to the world’s self destruct button in less than 24 hours.

So Fury was dead, the heroes were on the run, and nobody knew exactly how to stop Project Insight.Or what Zola’s algorithm was meant to do, once those helicarriers got up in the air.

“We need more information,” Natasha said. 

Steve frowned, and then snapped his fingers.“Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.”

Natasha caught on quickly.“So was Jasper Sitwell.”

“That bald guy with the bad glasses that was on the news?” James asked.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Steve nodded.“So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

“You don’t,” Sam said, and pushed a manila folder across the breakfast bar.

 

 

That was how he found out that his best friend was _also_ a superhero.Codename Falcon.Sam had flown missions all over the world, pulling off rescues that boggled the mind, and he’d never gotten an ounce of credit for it.James knew the things he did had to be impressive; it was enough to earn Natasha’s seal of approval, when she realized they’d crossed paths out in the field.That was no small thing.

She and Steve had left for one of her safe houses to get supplies, so he was alone with Sam.Talk of Riley always made him somber.James knew now that Riley had been wearing the second set of wings when he went down.It would be hard for Sam to strap in again, regardless of what he said to Steve.

James had not known Riley.Once Sam enlisted, their lives were in different places and moving at different speeds, so all he and James ever managed was the occasional phone call.But Sam always mentioned his friend he’d met in Basic, said James would like him and one day they’d all have to go out for a beer.It never happened. 

He wasn’t sure exactly _what_ Riley had been to Sam, but it didn’t really matter.Some people you just loved for no reason at all.Losing someone like that hurt bad. 

“Sorry I never told you,” Sam said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“You couldn’t.It was classified,” James shrugged.

“Yeah, but you’re one of my best friends.Felt weird to lie.”

“Doesn’t change things.Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

He smiled, but there was pain behind it.“James, I recommended you to take over the Falcon program.” 

His brain faltered and he stared at Sam.“What?”

“That’s why I pushed you toward the Air Force.I knew you would be the perfect person for Falcon.When you got your feet under you, they would’ve brought you in.And you would have been damn good at it.”He looked angry at the world as he said it, angry that fate had taken the opportunity from James.

“Sam, I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” 

He turned to James, face earnest.“I still think you could do it, if you let Stark build you a prosthetic.He’s only offered a dozen times.”Sam shook his head.“Hell, who am I kidding.You could do it without one.”

He let out a resigned breath of a laugh.“Fights usually go better with two arms, Sam.”

“I think you’d find a way to cut a bitch with _no_ arms if you had to, Barnes.” 

He laughed for real this time.“You’re probably right.” 

Sam had cracked a smile, but it faded away quickly.“I’m gonna be real with you, man, because Steve won’t.This is some heavy duty shit.We may not make it back.”

“Sam, stop.”

“No.You need to be prepared for the worst case scenario.If we’re killed or captured and those things get up in the air, you’re a target.You have to get out of dodge.”

This he knew; Steve had said as much.“Okay.”

“Natasha is getting new documents for you.Passport, drivers license - you’re going to have to become someone else.”

He sighed.That was no problem, he’d always been a decent actor and he knew how to lie when he had to, but…

“My arm is kind of conspicuous, Sam.All my prosthetics are at the apartment.No matter what I do to my face or my name, I’m still going to only have one arm.”

“I know.That’s why I’m going to the VA in a few minutes to grab a prosthesis for you.Among other things.”

“Don’t take someone else’s—” he started, offended at the idea of limiting another person’s function so that he might be a little less noticeable. 

“It’ll be fine, I already talked to the prosthetist.He knows the stakes.”

“Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded.“He was in the support group.”

 

 

 

The car was quiet.Natasha was deep in thought, making plans and calculating odds, chewing on her plush lower lip.Had it only been 18 hours ago that she told him to kiss her on the escalator to escape the notice of the STRIKE team?He had, kissing her the same way he kissed James, and afterwards she stared at him until it was time to step off the escalator lest they fall.

“How much did you know?” he asked.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.“More than you.”

“Obviously.”

“Steve,” she started, “with the right people running it, it could’ve worked.”

“Who are the right people?” he demanded.“Everyone is corruptible and everything is relative.That’s what I’ve learned from this century.”

“It isn’t enough to have people on the ground anymore.Things move too fast now.We need to adapt.”

“Subjugation isn’t adaptation.”

She rolled her eyes.“It wouldn’t have been subjugation.”

“What do you call control by threat?By fear?”He shook his head and looked out the window, row homes and brownstones flashing by.“I thought it was bad that you were lying to me.But the worst thing is how you’re lying to yourself.Tony, too.You want to set morals and ethics aside, fine.It still falls apart.One nation can’t hold a gun to all the others and expect them to cooperate.”

“I think you're forgetting about the _world_ part of the World Security Council.This was a joint project.It’s not America’s baby.”

“There are almost 200 countries on this planet.You think they all have a seat at that table?At best maybe G20 is represented but I’m sure it’s even less than that.This is a few nations acting in their own self-interest on a global scale, without the rest of the globe having any say in it.And where’s it launching from, Nat?Where’s the final build?”

Natasha sighed, frowning.It was clear that she had not expected him to be so abreast of world politics.But if there was one thing he kept up with, it was that, because he wanted to see World War III coming - and here it was. 

“It’s our baby, whether you want to admit it or not.There’s already enough anti-American sentiment in the world, deserved or otherwise.We put those things in the sky, it’s an awfully good way to give people a common enemy, even countries that don’t usually view us negatively. It’s going to start a war and we’re going to be the bad guys.”Steve felt _insane,_ like he was speaking gibberish that no one else could understand, but he couldn’t stop now that he’d started.“And that’s if Hydra _wasn’t_ in control of the project.I know them, Nat.I know them better than anyone else left on this earth.They want to control _everything_. _Everyone_.And if they can’t, then they’re going to bring it all down trying.They’ll be happy to rule over a kingdom of ashes.If that doesn’t scare you…”

“It does, Steve.It does,” she said.

“But not the other thing.”

She sighed again.“It…it isn’t _ideal_.But I’m long past any confidence that man can build peace for himself.Why not demand it?Make it a requirement instead of a choice?”

“Peace at the price of freedom,” he murmured.They were stopped at a light, and he took hold of her wrist.She turned to look at him, young and old at the same time, just like him.“I’m not selling, Natasha.Not now, not ever.”

She put her hand over his and squeezed.

“I know.”

 

 

 

Things moved so fast.It seemed like Steve and Natasha had only come in the door a minute ago, and now they were going back out with Sam in tow.James had everything he could possibly need; weapons, money, fake IDs, a prosthetic that wasn’t his but fit fairly well in spite of it.There was a place for him to go if SHIELD came looking.There were people lined up to help him.Nevertheless, he didn’t want to let them out of his sight.

It was hard to release them into the unknown, with the odds stacked so high against them.He knew that Steve had a way of shifting those odds; Natasha, too, and Sam certainly wouldn’t hurt the cause.But like Sam had said, it was possible that they wouldn’t come back.That this was the last time he would see any of them alive.

They didn’t seem to be afraid.James tried to feed off that, at least until they made it out the door and beyond his reach.Then he spent twenty minutes sitting on the couch fighting panic.

Once that was out of his system, he set himself up to be out the door in a minute or less.Backpack with papers, clothing, food, water, weapons and ammunition.He ignored how crazy it was for him to be packing a doomsday bag.It wasn’t half as crazy as what his boyfriend and friends were facing. 

All too soon, there was nothing left for him to do but wait.He set the phone next to him even though he knew it wouldn’t ring.Kept his sneakers tied and his jacket on.He put the backpack on the couch next to him and turned on the television, praying that he’d spend the next twelve hours staring at nothing of consequence instead of watching the world as he knew it come to an end.

 

 

 

It was as bad as he expected, and worse.Sitwell rolled over with minimal intimidation.They now knew exactly what they were up against.Sitwell’s value was limited, but it seemed to be taking him much too long to understand that.He was just lucky he was with the good guys.

“I gotta say, Cap,” Sitwell said from the backseat, babbling nervously, “well done on escaping that elevator.I never thought you’d jump.Didn’t anticipate that.”

He saw how badly Natasha wanted to pistol-whip him in the rearview mirror.He wished she would.Anger throbbing in his veins, Steve turned.The bald man blanched at the look on his face.

“The thought that I saved your life on the Lemurian Star makes me sick,” Steve enunciated.“You didn’t think I’d jump out of that elevator and you didn’t think I’d throw you off a roof, but I have news for you.I’ve killed hundreds of Hydra agents.I’m a little out of practice, I admit, but something tells me it won’t be too hard to get back on the horse.”Steve’s voice dropped lower, and his fingers trailed over the edge of the shield where it rested between his knees.“Open your mouth one more time.I dare you.A corpse will get us past the DNA scans just fine, and be a lot fucking quieter.”

Sitwell goggled at him.He looked like he wanted to cry.That would have to do for now.

“Okay,” Sam said, mostly to himself, “I just peed a little.”Natasha snorted, and rested her gun casually against Sitwell’s side. 

In the brief catharsis of _letting the mean out,_ as Bucky once called it, Steve’s lips twitched with humor that ought to be impossible to find.It was the first time in a long time that he felt like small Steve, when the rage built up and the buzz in his head made his hands ball into fists, and pity the next ignorant jackass who crossed his path.Not that he won many fights back then, but he could scrap for a good while.They were in for one hell of a scrap, he suspected.But these days, he didn’t need Bucky to finish what he started.He was more than capable of doing that on his own.

“Can’t you drive faster?” Natasha complained.“Insight launches in sixteen hours, we’re cutting it a bit close here.”

No sooner had she said it than there was a thump against the roof, and a second later the rear driver’s side window imploded in a spray of glass.Jasper Sitwell was wrenched from the seat by a metal arm.That arm tossed him into oncoming traffic like he was a rag doll.

“Motherfu—” was all Sam got out before he slammed on the brakes, and the Winter Soldier tumbled onto the road in front of them.

 

 

 

“Oh, shit.Oh, fuck.”

He talked to himself as he paced, fighting back waves of nausea and crushing fear.The live feed from the freeway was _awful_.The man with the metal arm, the one who murdered Fury, was trying to kill Steve and Sam and Natasha, and he wasn’t alone.It was literally a war zone.

And the Winter Soldier, he was _strong_.He was a match for Steve.The helicopter’s camera was jerky and too far away but James could see the stalemate.They both landed hits, they both feinted away and recovered only to clash together again.Guns, blades, shield - they were fluid, a choreographed dance of death, twisting bodies lunging and receding like the tides.It would be beautiful if half of the show wasn’t the man he loved. 

As he watched, Steve landed a blow that knocked the mask from the other man’s face and made him stumble away.James cursed the fact that Steve’s gun was still strapped around his ankle.That would have been the moment.That was the opening he needed to shoot the man in the back of the head.

It passed with a blink and they were _staring_ at one another.Neither moved.Acknowledgement, or…something else? 

It didn’t matter _what_ it was.Steve was frozen.The moment cost them; the Soldier’s reinforcements were able to move in and get guns on Steve and Sam and Natasha.The redhead was moving strangely, like she was hurt.Sam looked fine but he was still on his knees on the pavement, gun to the back of his head.His worst nightmare was coming true.He was about to watch an execution.

“If you’re just tuning in, we’re live here at the scene of a developing situation.It appears that Captain America, Black Widow, and an unknown third party are now in SHIELD custody.This follows tense moments of combat between those three and a fourth man, also unknown, who appears to have a metal arm and be in the company of SHIELD.Witnesses say the man with the metal arm started the fight on the freeway, which later spilled down to street level, endangering numerous civilians.Witnesses are also saying that this man was able to hold his own against Captain America.It’s unclear where he’s gone now that the fighting has stopped.Incredibly, preliminary reports suggests that no one was killed in the clash, though several have been taken to area hospitals with injuries from crashes on the freeway and a bus rollover.”

He barely heard the report.They didn’t shoot Steve, Sam, and Natasha, but they did load them into an armored van.No doubt to drive them somewhere that a news camera couldn’t find them, and kill them there.The head of the STRIKE team Steve worked with, Rumlow, was too smart to do it out in the open.

They’d gone out for drinks with Rumlow, Rollins, and a few of the others once, mostly in an effort to be sociable.It was an unremarkable evening beyond the fact that it was filled with more bro time than James was used to, and he could tell that Rumlow was the complicated sort of homophobic that resented taking orders from a gay man because it threatened his masculinity.He’d compartmentalized it out of respect and necessity, and as long as he never had to _see_ his commanding officer with a man he could pretend that Steve wasn’t gay.But that night it was right in his face and he didn’t bother to hide how little he thought of James. _What a waste,_ his expression said, like James had somehow led Steve astray. _Look what you did to him._

He didn’t say anything to Steve because it would upset him.And, honestly, he suspected the joke was on Rumlow; he’d only met him once but he was pretty sure that Steve’s sexuality turned him on as much as it turned him off.That was further reinforced when Steve mentioned that they’d been invited out for drinks again, but he declined because Rumlow seemed a bit _too_ friendly outside of work.To think James had actually felt bad for the guy and his repression and self-loathing…

His stomach lurched.As unbearable as it was to think of them killing Steve and Sam and Natasha, he prayed that that was _all_ they would do.

_You need to start sending e-mails_ , the small, rational part of his brain said. _You’re the only one left.You’re the only one who can stop it.You promised him.You promised them._

“Get up, James,” he said out loud, and his voice was shaky and strangled and barely his own.

_Get up._

 

 

 

Sam was talking to him, but it was like he had gone deaf, the whole-body disorientation of a shell detonating too close, world spinning, skin tingling, electric, ears blaring tinnitus —

_Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky —_

A sharp kick to his shin made him surface, mind breaking through the flood before he drowned.He blinked at Natasha, who stared back, eyes deep with concern layered on top of pain.She was wounded.Badly. 

_Bucky did that to her, Bucky shot her, Bucky tried to take your fucking head off, Bucky shot Nick, Bucky is Hydra, oh, God, what did they DO to him —_

“Steve.”Sam’s voice was firm, grounding.

“It was him.He looked right at me and he didn’t even know me.”He heard the edge of hysteria in his own voice.

Sam didn’t often struggle to control his face, that Steve knew.But he did now.He expressed his doubt as gently as possible, saying, “It’s been seventy years, Steve,” in his best therapist-dropping-an-uncomfortable-truth voice.“How could it even be possible?”

It came to Steve in a sickening rush.Ausberg.The isolation ward.The one no one ever came back from…except Bucky.

“Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ’43.Zola experimented on them.On _him._ ”

He had known right away Bucky had been tortured.He had also known it was for cruelty’s sake, because he didn’t know anything of consequence that would help the Nazis.In the factory Bucky had been dazed and docile, but as soon as they were out in the woods and marching back toward Azzano, everything changed.He realized Steve wasn’t just a fever dream, the hallucination of a mind cracking open.It became real and _he_ became furious.

Of the two of them, Steve was the one with a temper.To see rage in Bucky’s eyes was a red flag.Something was very wrong.Bucky was _different_.But there was no way for Steve to ask what he’d been through when Bucky wouldn’t speak to him.At the time he thought he was just shaken up and with enough distance and patience and gentleness, Bucky would talk.He soon made it clear that he had nothing to say to Steve, and after that Steve was so crushed with guilt and heartache that it had to be forgotten if they were ever going to make staying out in the field together work. 

“Whatever Zola did,” Steve said, voice trembling with the weight of realization, “it helped Bucky survive the fall.They must have found him.”

And the tinnitus was back, screaming in his ears, and he couldn’t breathe and he _hated_ panic attacks because it felt like asthma.He leaned against his restraints, heart clawing at the prison of his ribs, remembering when his body was too small and sickly for his ambitions.When, most days, he felt like a tiger snapping and snarling at the bars of a cage while people laughed because he was the runt of the litter.They always forgot the runt was still a fucking _tiger._ But claws and teeth meant nothing if you couldn’t draw breath.He never felt smaller than he did during these panic attacks, because he was still broken.He still wasn’t good enough, and Bucky, Bucky, oh, God, he should have gone right down that mountainside, he should have turned over every fucking rock and snowdrift in the Alps to find him — 

“It’s not your fault, Steve.”Natasha’s voice punched through.“None of it.” 

It hurt.God, it hurt so bad.Just like it did when his mother died and all of a sudden there were more people who loved him in the cemetery than the waking world. 

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” he whispered, remembering his promise the day of the funeral. _I’m with you til the end of the line._ He had never broken that promise, even after Steve broke _them_.“He stayed in the war because of me,” he confessed, still gutted by it. 

_Someone has to watch your back, since you won’t.It’s a much bigger target now._

“He would never have lived to make that choice if not for you,” Natasha said.She was beginning to take on a gray tone, and he could see sweat beading at her brow.Sam noticed, too.His lips set, hard and flat.

“We need to get a doctor here.If we don’t put pressure on that wound she’s gonna bleed out here in the truck.”

“Sam, _leave it_ ,” she growled, knowing the futility of the situation.Steve knew, too, what they intended to do.He could fight them off but there were too many for him to be able to save both Sam and Natasha along with himself.Natasha would tell him, without hesitation, to let it be her.She was already wounded, already well on her way to dying, and there was a mission, maybe the most important mission of his life.But with Bucky’s face dancing behind his eyelids he couldn’t do it.He couldn’t leave anyone else behind.

Sam was glaring at the two STRIKE officers in their Empire gray uniforms and featureless black helmets.

“Gonna ignore me?That’s all right,” he said between clenched teeth, “Black Widow can still kick your ass any day of the week.” 

Sam didn’t flinch when the officer on the right drew a stun baton with crisp intent and activated it.The motion and the hot ozone smell of electricity ripped Steve from his pity party.He had won a fight with twelve men in an elevator with one hand quite literally behind his back.What made them think a van with both hands behind his back was any different?Did they expect his shock to be so great that he walked right down the chute for slaughter?They were wrong.So, so wrong.He didn’t need his shield or his hands to kill them, and he _would_ kill them before he let them hurt Sam or Natasha.Before he left the world without dragging Bucky from Hydra’s grasp.His muscles were coiling for attack when the guard suddenly turned the baton on his partner and shocked him into unconsciousness.

“The _hell_ ,” Sam breathed. 

And then the officer removed his - no, _her_ helmet.Maria.

“That thing was squeezing my brain,” she said, wincing.

Sam leaned his head back against the wall of the truck and huffed a laugh, a stupid grin on his face.

 

 

 

It - _he_ \- should not have come back.

It is too late when he realizes it.He is already in the vault, already disarmed.Eyes catch on silver and his mind trembles.

_Disarmed_.

The stark, garish red of blood on snow.He’s seen it before, many times, but this is different.This is his own.

The shriek of a bone saw, a voice, until he can no longer tell the two apart —

_Disarmed_.

They tell him that he is sick, that the glitches in his brain are delusions.He is not a person.He is a machine.The gift of sentience invaluable, but flawed.He must submit to maintenance when the glitches overwhelm his programming.He cannot be effective like this.He cannot do what he is made for.

He wants it.He wants the sight of shattered bone and the rawness of endless screaming and the ache of cold to go away.So he came back.

But there is something else now, a new glitch.The man on the bridge.Strong.Indomitable, yet fragile.Blue eyes, lips forming a word - a _name_ \- with such reverence.Machines do not have names.Machines do not have identities.‘ _Bucky’_ is not a machine. 

This glitch, it is different.Most of them he wants to get rid of.This one he wants to keep.He wants to gnaw at it until it makes sense.He wants to find the man from the bridge and stare into those eyes until he understands what _‘Bucky’_ is.

They won’t let him.

It’s a sharp, lacerating epiphany.

They won’t let him because _he knew him_.No one has ever known him.He has never realized that he was _someone to know._ Because they always tell him he is just a machine.The Asset.The Fist of Hydra.A thing defined by function and nothing else, useless beyond that.And he has never wanted to be more.More is filled with pain, with questions, with _agony_.

He knows that, but this glitch feels _so important._ It shifts beneath his skin, makes him restless and overwhelmed and in turns so angry he wants to kill everyone in the room and so frightened that he wants to find the deepest, darkest spot on the planet and hibernate for a thousand years.

He _feels_.

Yes, he _feels_ , in his mind and in his skin and bones when Pierce’s hand cracks with bruising force.His mouth moves, he speaks, but he is only conscious of the need to keep this somehow.The only way he can keep it is if they don’t put him back in the cold.The chair, it will wipe his mind clean, but it never stays that way.And the man from the bridge is too strong for them to control.He’ll see him again.He knows it.

So he leans back.Accepts the mouthguard between his teeth.And the cold lash of electricity burns it all away.

 

 

 

James had just strapped his bag onto his back when a black SUV screeched around the corner.Less than sixty minutes had passed since he saw the others captured on television.Enough time for them to figure out who Sam was, who Sam knew, and where James Barnes might be hiding.It was time to go.

He bailed out the back door and ran.

 

 

 

He sought solitude after setting everyone straight on what was going to happen with SHIELD.A nasty headache had begun behind his eyes, but it was almost welcome; the pain made it impossible for him to focus on the whirling thoughts that continued to press at the boundaries of his mind.However, he started to feel nauseated not long after, and that was a rarity.It only happened when he ran himself completely ragged.Knowing there was still a hell of a fight ahead, Steve got himself horizontal in a dark corner posthaste.

If Maria was surprised when she found him curled on the dingy floor two hours later, she didn’t show it.He was thankful that he hadn’t been out of combat long enough to lose the ability to find rest in awkward spots.Once he was fully awake, he took her in.He had always found Maria to be beautiful, but right now she was a vision, her hair loose and her cheeks flushed.He would bet anything that Sam was the cause of the brightness in her eyes.

“You need to see this,” she said.She led him back to the triage area.Fury was half-dozing from pain medication and so was Natasha, but her color looked better and she would bounce back.Maria angled her laptop so they could all see it, and then she opened a video.

It was a clip from the early news.As soon as he recognized the man in the paused frame Steve’s heart plummeted. _James._  

It was official; he was the worst person in the world.He hadn’t thought of his boyfriend in _hours._ James was in as much danger as him, James was _alone_ , James was —

Sam’s hand fell on his forearm.“I texted him from Maria’s phone when we got here.He’s okay.”

“I didn’t—”

“You were a little preoccupied,” Sam said firmly.“I told him you took some hits and needed to rest.He said he loves you.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a long minute.“Still trying to figure out why,” he mumbled.

“I can think of a few reasons,” Natasha said without opening her eyes.“Play the video, Maria, or I’m going to fall asleep.”

Maria clicked play.Steve recognized Sam’s living room.James was seated on Sam’s couch, speaking into a webcam.He looked tired and drawn.

“My name is James Barnes.Some of you may know me as Steve’s— as Captain America’s boyfriend.I’m recording this message so that you all know the truth about what’s happening.”He took a breath and set his jaw.“SHIELD has been compromised.It’s been infiltrated by Hydra.Yes, Hydra.It’s been going on for years.Their leader is the current Secretary of the World Security Council, Alexander Pierce.Those helicarriers he’s told you about aren’t just for surveillance.They’re weapons.They’re outfitted with long range guns that can kill a thousand people per minute.Hydra plans to use an algorithm to identify targets that are now or may someday be a threat to their power.That means _anyone_.If those things get airborne, no one is safe.There is no defense.They can target you from the upper atmosphere, any day, any time, any reason.Or no reason at all.”

He paused a moment to let it sink in.Steve felt intensely proud of him; he was so brave, and more of a hero than he’d ever realize.

“Nick Fury figured it out,” James went on.“He was at our apartment that night to tellSteve what he knew and to ask for his help in stopping the Project Insight launch.You all know how that ended - with him being silenced, permanently.Secretary Pierce lured Steve back to SHIELD headquarters under the pretense of questioning him about Fury’s death, and then they tried to capture him.When they couldn’t, they tried to kill him.You all saw it.You saw that jet try to gun him down, same as me.”

He reached for something - a grainy picture.He held it up to the camera.

_Bucky_.Muzzled and menacing, just like he was when Steve first laid eyes on him.A still from that afternoon’s breaking news report.

“You need proof?” James asked.“Think about that man with the metal arm on the freeway.Interesting that SHIELD hasn’t addressed his sudden appearance or his abilities, isn’t it?I’m happy to do it for them.They call him the Winter Soldier.Most people don’t believe he’s real, but now it’s pretty clear that he is.He’s implicated in dozens of murders all around the world, decades’ worth of blood and sorrow.This is the man that killed Nick Fury.This is the man that tried to kill Captain America, Black Widow, and Falcon this afternoon.Does he seem like the poster boy for SHIELD?Or someone else?”

James dropped the picture.He leaned closer.

“The Winter Soldier is Hydra, and so are the members of that STRIKE team that took the love of my life and two of my dear friends away in an unmarked van.They may already be dead, laying in shallow graves with bullets in the backs of their heads.”His voice trembled and the pain in his face was undeniable, but so was the determination.“But even if they are dead, they are not silenced.I know the truth, and now you do, too.We cannot allow Project Insight to launch.Call your local authorities, call Congress, call the goddamn _President_ , demand that SHIELD operations be ceased and that Alexander Pierce be removed from his position within SHIELD and the World Security Council.Get out in the streets.Go to the Triskelion.Whatever we have to do.If those helicarriers make it into the sky, the world as we know it will change, and not for the better.Hydra will have won.You remember what kind of world they wanted back in the forties, don’t you?We can’t let that happen.”James shook his head.“Not on our watch.”

Before the video ended, he held up a piece of paper with phone numbers and websites for various people and organizations others could call to voice their concerns about Project Insight.Then the screen went black.

“Aww,” Natasha said around a yawn, “I’m a dear friend.”

“That’s what you got out of that?” Sam asked wryly.

Steve paid them no mind and leaned forward to squint at the laptop.“Why is this on an obscure website and not NBC or CNN?Or the mobile news from the Post?He must have sent this to them.In fact, I know he did.”

“If Hydra has people in SHIELD and the US Government, they certainly have people in news media,” Fury said.“They’re suppressing it.”

“Damn it,” Steve breathed.

“Give it time,” Maria said.“This website isn’t as obscure as you think.It just needs a little time to get traction.Once it’s gone viral on social media the major networks will pick it up.By rush hour it’ll have legs.”

“What if they move up the launch?” Sam asked.

“Then we need to be ready,” Steve said.He reached over and picked up Maria’s keys.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“To break into the Smithsonian.”

“How is that—”

Steve was already halfway down the corridor.“If you’re gonna fight a war,” he said over his shoulder, “then you have to wear a uniform.”

 

 

 

He forced himself not to stop at the part of the display that featured Bucky.He couldn’t look at that face now, not without losing himself.But it was impossible not to look at the jacket, the shade of blue that always made Bucky’s eyes pop so beautifully that Steve ached with the knowledge that they would never again look at him the same way.The jacket was a replica, yes, but a damn good one.Down to the logo on the left shoulder, the same wings that graced the sides of his helmet.

Now there was only metal and that glaring red star. 

Steve felt himself lingering and knew he had to _go_.He couldn’t be caught here, paralyzed by guilt and grief and the soul-deep need to know if there was anything left of Bucky inside that cold, precise man.He couldn’t be caught here, and he couldn’t be caught in battle, either.The mission had to come first.

He took a minute to sit at the foot of the display and let himself be gutted by it all.It felt the same.Just like it did in 1945, when he had to ignore the gaping emotional wounds and fight until his last breath because too much was at stake to indulge in grief.Only now it was because Bucky was alive, not dead.But this, truly, might be the same thing.He knew very well how a person could be alive in body and not in mind or spirit.He’d lived it for a while, before he met James.

Maybe this was it.Maybe this was what fate woke him up for.He meant it when he said that to Tony - there had to be a reason he was still here.What else could it be? _Who_ else could stop Bucky?

And he found, alone on the floor of the Smithsonian amongst the relics of another life, that he would rather the exquisite pain of knowing and being here to do something about it than blissful ignorance in the breast of the Arctic.He stood up.Hefted his bag over his shoulder, somehow comforted by the fact that he’d fight this battle in his old suit.Then he left, heart and mind set, because failure, quite simply, was not an option.

 

 

 

By sunrise Maria’s prediction came true.The local news networks began to broadcast James’s video.An hour after that, CNN picked it up.Then Fox News.Soon there was nothing else on television.

In true cable news style, pundits weighed in on things they knew nothing about.Steve tried to ignore it as he got himself together and reviewed the plan to make sure he knew every detail.But when one particularly loathsome man began to talk about his mental health, he couldn’t not listen.

“Look, we all know Rogers has mental problems.He’s admitted it.He took 9 months off because of a nervous breakdown.Who’s to say he’s not off his meds?Mental illness aside, he’s 95 years old.Doesn’t look it but age is age, we can’t ignore the possibility that he’s gone senile.Still thinks it’s World War II, sees Hydra in every shadow.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Natasha muttered under her breath as she checked her weapons.

The pundit went on.“That boyfriend of his, he worships the ground he walks on.Follows the guy around like a dog.What I think we’re seeing here is a classic _folie_ _a deux._ Rogers is having a psychotic break and Barnes is along for the ride.”

“Steve,” Maria said, her voice measured, “please don’t shoot my laptop.” 

For the first time he noticed the gun in his hand, aimed at the computer.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said through his teeth.

“Save it for Hydra,” Nick said.“Show ‘em you don’t have to be _off your meds_ to open a can of whoop-ass on them.”

“Amen to that,” Sam agreed.

A moment later Maria’s phone chimed and she picked it up to read.

“Shit.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“That was Agent 13.Sharon.She’s been giving me information from inside since things went bad.”Maria sighed.“They moved the launch to 10 am.”

Steve glanced at the clock reflexively.7:26.

“Hawley’s plane lands at Dulles in 30 minutes,” Natasha said.

They had planned to do this separately, Nick and Natasha taking care of the Councilwoman and Steve, Sam, and Maria making last minute preparations to move on the Triskelion.But it seemed that right now _was_ the last minute.

“Then we better be at Dulles in 30 minutes,” Steve said.“Gear up.”

 

 

It was in the car, as Nick and Natasha convinced the Councilwoman to help them, that Sam leaned close and said in a low voice, “He’s gonna be there, you know.”

“I know,” Steve acknowledged softly.

“Look, whoever he used to be…” Sam paused, trailing off, his respect for Bucky and his importance in Steve’s life plain before he continued, “the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”He had been trying to ignore the small voice in his consciousness that nagged at him, demanding to know what would happen if he couldn’t complete his mission without neutralizing Bucky entirely.He had no better answer now than he did eight hours ago.

“He might not give you a choice.”Sam’s lips thinned like they had in the truck, watching Natasha suffer and bleed.“He doesn’t know you.”

“He will.” 

He said it with finality, and as always, Sam knew when to let something drop.They sat in tense but companionable silence, waiting for Natasha and Hawley to finish their clothing swap.Steve leaned forward to scoop Maria’s phone out of the cup holder.

“What was James’s new number?”

Sam recited it, and Steve dialed.He put it on speaker and Sam offered him a small, grateful smile.That smile faded when the phone rang six times and then went to voicemail.Their eyes met, worry shared between them.

“I’m sure he’s…he’s just sleeping,” Sam said.“Or in the middle of something.” 

The voicemail beeped; ready to record.

“It’s Steve,” he said, and hoped his voice wouldn’t sound as vulnerable in the recording as it did in the space of the car.

“And Sam,” Sam added.

There was a pause, neither of them knowing exactly what to say to someone they cared so much about in what might be the last time he heard their voices.But Steve always seemed to know, eventually, what was needed.

“We love you,” he said.Short, sweet, simple.And very true.

Sam nodded.“Be safe.” 

Steve hung up and held the phone, top edge against his forehead.Then he took a breath and opened a text.He was sure Maria had Tony’s number in here but Steve had it memorized.He still had an old-fashioned brain, the kind that was conditioned to remember numbers because there was no all-purpose storage device that made such things unnecessary.

_If we fail, Insight launches at 10,_ he wrote. _Might be a good time to be underground or for you and Pepper to be wearing suits.Tell the others._

He sent it.He knew it was a risk; much as it stung, Tony had already voiced his support for Insight and Steve didn’t know how deep that support ran.Nick had been right about not trusting anyone.Tony could be Hydra just like anyone else in SHIELD.Yet he couldn’t reconcile that with the man he knew, nor could he shake the image of the helicarriers opening fire on Stark Tower.Tony, with his money and charisma and manic genius, would be at the top of the list of troublemakers.And for all his personality quirks and sometimes-misguided faith in technology and the rationality of man, Tony had a good heart.

Mind made up, Steve sent a second group of messages. 

_I forgive you.Protect James if you can.It’s been an honor._

 

 

 

Just like the other day on Sam’s couch, James sat still for what seemed like seconds and woke up hours later, disoriented and sick with anxiety.He was in a motel in that middle-of-nowhere part of Maryland.He had sent the videos and e-mails from a public computer in a library just outside D.C.Then gone to the home of a member of Sam’s PTSD support group - Carla, the woman dodging phantom IEDs - and been handed keys to a car and a bag of supplies.Carla and her husband sent him off with solemn faces and promises that they would take care of themselves, too.

From there he was supposed to make his way to New York, to Tony, by a circuitous route.He stayed off the highways, winding his way through Virginia and Maryland until the sun set and he became too tired to safely drive.He’d checked into this motel under his new identity: Andrew Brooks.He didn’t pick it, but he supposed he could be Andy for a good long while, if he had to.For now the story was that he’d lost his arm in an industrial accident, and he had doctored medical records to prove it.If he made it to Tony, he knew that within weeks he’d have a prosthesis indistinguishable from a human arm, and it wouldn’t matter anymore.

He fumbled for his phone to check the time.9:53.And he had a voicemail.

It took him a moment to figure out how to access the voicemail, since he hadn’t initially set it up.Once he got it, Steve and Sam’s voices washed over him.

“It’s Steve.” 

“And Sam.”

Pause.

“We love you.”

“Be safe.”

Oh, God.He hated himself for sleeping through that call.He dialed the number in his missed call log but it just rang and rang.When he turned on the television a minute later, he understood why.

They launched early.

The helicarriers were in the sky.

His chest grew tight.That could only mean…

“—reports from the Triskelion are sparse and at times conflicting, but as of now we have confirmation of SHIELD agents turning on their own colleagues with multiple casualties, and that both Captain America and Falcon have engaged the Project Insight helicarriers.”

For the first time he saw Sam in his wings.He flew as easily as he breathed, banking and diving and firing at his pursuers.He was _incredible_.

“And now I have breaking news, no visual confirmation at this time, but reports are coming in that the agent dubbed ‘The Winter Soldier’ by James Barnes in his alarmist video, is on the ground.Information on this man is sparse, but Barnes’s assertion that he is an assassin has yielded some truth, as preliminary research suggests a man with a metal arm has been implicated in a number of killings around the world in recent decades.”

“Yeah, no shit,” James breathed.He put his head down.He was feeling faint.

Steve and Sam were alive.Fighting.They made no mention of Natasha, but her role was often one of stealth; James was less worried than he might have been, not knowing that.The helicarriers were in the air, but it wasn’t over yet.

He made a grab for his phone and dialed another number, one that Steve had put in the phone under AES.Tony answered in three rings.

“Who is this?”

“Where the _fuck_ are you?” James demanded.

He could hear Tony’s breath catch.“Delaware.”

“Fly faster,” he growled.

“I’m _trying!”_

It wasn’t fair to take it all out on Tony, James knew that, but he couldn’t help it.

“Still think this is _the right move_?” he snarled before hanging up.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the helicarriers began to shoot one another out of the sky, and James watched as they went down in fiery splendor, crying with relief.

 

 

 

Steve could see he wasn’t as focused this time.Bucky - the Winter Soldier - he was _distracted._ If Steve hadn’t already fought him, he wouldn’t have known, but the single-mindedness, the laser focus, it wasn’t the same as it had been on the freeway.He was trying to complete his mission, no doubt, and his _trying_ was better than most people’s best efforts, but his eyes lingered on Steve when he struck, and those strikes were…

Not as lethal as they should have been.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it.His window was closing and even non-lethal strikes from the Soldier would add up.Like that bullet graze to his side, and that stab wound to his shoulder, goddamn that _hurt_.So he trapped Bucky in a hold he’d learned from Dugan, winced at the crack of bone, mourned the indignant shout of pain that came out of him.But it was okay.It was going to be okay.Because one arm down, he could wrap him into a choke hold.

He struggled, spitting and growling, but Steve held on, knowing both of their lives depended on it.After a long, fraught minute, Bucky slid from his arms, limp.Unconscious.The server blade finally fell from his hand.Steve grabbed it and scrambled for the console; it was down to minutes, now.

Bucky didn’t stay unconscious for long.Steve knew that when a gunshot echoed in the cavernous belly of the helicarrier and pain lit up his thigh.He couldn’t stop.He had to keep moving.Where he was, it was his only defense; it was always harder to hit a moving target.But he knew how good a shot Bucky was, and there was no reason to suspect the Soldier had lost any of his accuracy.Especially with that left arm, the pulseless, rigid thing that could flay skin from bone in one hit.The corner of his mouth was already laid open, cut down to muscle where those knuckles landed, and the teeth underneath were loose.

_Keep going.Keep going._

It was all he could think, even when a second bullet hit him in the shoulder and the involuntary spasm of his arm almost made him fall.Steve gritted his teeth, a sound of both determination and pain ripping from his throat as he pulled himself back up onto the metal walkway.

_Keep going_.

“Thirty seconds, Cap!”Maria’s voice was tense, but still hopeful.

“Stand by.”

And he was there, a breath away from slotting that server blade home, when the third shot hit him.The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt.His legs went out from under him.He felt the blood welling hot between his skin and the suit, fast, soaking.Nausea bludgeoned him, so much worse than the night before, and he could feel iron and bile edging up the back of his throat. 

This was a bad one.This was…the Soldier more frightened of failure than of not understanding, every shot getting closer to killing him.If he shot again…

Steve tried to clear his racing mind and will his body to lift him up one last time.All he needed to do was put that chip in the right place.Everything below where he’d been shot _burned_ , burned like hell, worse on the left than the right.He could still move his legs, though.Not perfectly, but enough.He knew what field training said if a spinal injury was suspected; he shouldn’t move.Movement could make it worse.But the alternative was death.Not just him, but millions of others.Fuck his spine.

Steve levered himself up, Maria’s voice counting down in his ear, and stopped Project Insight dead in its tracks.He ignored the lances of pain, the numbness in his left foot, the way that his arms were doing more to hold him up than his legs in that moment.

“Charlie lock,” he said raggedly. 

“Cap,” Maria said, “get out of there.”

There was not a chance in hell that he was going to leave Bucky.

“Fire now,” he replied, feeling curiously peaceful.

“But Steve—” there was a plea in her voice.

“Do it!” he commanded. “Do it now!”

Maria didn’t say anything else.Seconds later, the ship vibrated, both giving and taking fire, and began to fall apart around him.Good.He smiled, wondering if he was delirious from pain and shock and blood loss.The smile was dashed from his face when he heard a crash, and then Bucky screamed.Real pain, without the indignance of before.

He willed his body to take him to the edge.Below, Bucky was pinned beneath an enormous steel girder.The arm that could have lifted it off him was trapped at an angle with no mechanical advantage, and his right arm was broken.There was no way he could escape on his own.

_Keep going._

He leapt over the edge.Ignored the hot knife of pain and the way he pitched forward onto his hands when he landed.Stood up on shaking legs and made his way to the girder, crouching to wrap his arms around it.

_Keep going._

And it felt like he was being _cut in half_ as he lifted, screaming through his teeth, but it was worth it when Bucky was able to wriggle out from beneath the girder.Steve dropped the steel with an echoing clang and tried to see Bucky through eyes gone dark and spotty with pain.He looked confused, petrified… _angry_.

“You know me,” Steve said, calm.

“No I _don’t!_ ” Bucky shouted, metal arm swinging, clanging into the shield Steve was barely able to get up in time.Any semblance of control he had was fractured.Hairline cracks were forming in the armor of the Winter Soldier.It started with the uniform, Steve realized.His old uniform, the one Bucky told him to keep when he signed on to the Howling Commandos.The stars and stripes that were, he later grumbled in regret, too fucking visible against any backdrop, grass, trees, snow, _everything_.That uniform kept him busy on hills and in treetops; the star on his chest was as good as a bullseye.

Once, when they were both angry and overtired and sick of existing in such mutual misery, he’d shouted at Bucky that he had known where to stab him long before he ever wore a star on his chest.Bucky had gone white and stormed out of the tent.He didn’t talk to Steve for two days.The others joked that they’d had a lover’s quarrel without any idea of how close they were to the mark.

“Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life,” he said softly.Bucky swung at him again with an inhuman growl and Steve blocked, but didn’t retaliate.“Your name is James Buchanan.But you always went by Bucky.”

“ _Shut up_!” Bucky screamed, and Steve could hear the ferocious pain in it.The metal fist came at him again, fast, brutal, and pain thumped through him as he blocked.He managed to parry Bucky back a few steps, and Bucky looked at him, breathing hard, rage still a hot spark in his eyes.

Steve dropped the shield, and then reached up to pull off his helmet.Bucky needed to see his face.All of it.Somehow, he was sure it would be the last nail in the Winter Soldier’s coffin.

“I’m not going to fight you.”He swallowed and relaxed his hands down to his sides.“You’re my friend.”

The wind pushed out of him in a rush when Bucky tackled him.His eyes were wild, unmoored, and Steve’s heart broke.

“You’re my mission,” he gasped, and a metal fist exploded lights behind Steve’s eyes, crushed his cheekbone and his eye socket, and Bucky repeated it as he punched - _you’re my mission -_ like he had nothing else left to anchor him to the world.

His head was fuzzy and his vision faded; there was only Bucky, haloed in black, sweating, crying, _ruined._

_Keep…going…_

“Then…finish it,” Steve slurred out, staring up at him, letting it all flood into his eyes.Bucky raised his fist for another blow, but wavered, not understanding how a man he was killing could look at him that way.“‘Cause…I’m with you…til the end of the line.”

And that was it.His eyes went wide, the metal fingers lax, and something human crept in.He had only that tenuous second to see it, to witness Bucky as he’d seen him once before on the table in Zola’s lab, awake and disbelieving, before the ship shook and groaned and the floor dropped out from under him. 

_I’m sorry, James._

He passed out in freefall, because there was nothing else he could do except spare himself the impact.

 

 

 

His relief was premature, because two hours after the helicarriers went down, no one had seen or heard from Steve.Maria admitted that he was still on board the third helicarrier when they opened fire on one another.No one blamed her for it; they all knew how stubborn Steve could be, and how important it was to take those things down.She couldn’t have held back for sentiment’s sake.

The world was reeling.It was now painfully clear that everything James said in his video was true.Natasha had made both SHIELD and Hydra files public and it was damning, to say the least.Maria had been smart enough to screenshot the helicarrier displays at full target saturation to show that hundreds of thousands of civilians had narrowly avoided death this day.But many had died anyway, good agents of SHIELD who had given their lives to try to stop Hydra’s bid for control.And it seemed more and more likely with each passing minute that Steve had gone down with them.

Tony, Rhodey, and Sam were out doing search and rescue (and more likely than not, rounding up Hydra stragglers).Maria and Natasha, along with Councilwoman Hawley, dealt with the press.James stayed with Fury, feeling useless and hollow with grief, while Fury edited himself out of Natasha’s recordings of Pierce holding the other Council members hostage and eventually killing several of them.

Half an hour later, Clint arrived.He offered a sturdy hug, and then went straight up in a helicopter, hoping his unnatural gifts of sight would help them find Steve.The news crews caught on quickly once they saw him and began to follow his helicopter around.James listened to the back and forth between Clint, Tony, and Rhodey over the comm, thinking of Steve at Christ the Redeemer.Thinking this was a good time for even an atheist to pray.

It was one o’clock on a resplendent spring afternoon, the sun high in the sky, when Clint’s voice rang with hope.

“Tony!Tony, come back towards me, I see something.”

“Where?” Tony demanded.

“No — to the left— up a little!”

“I see it!”Tony shouted.“I see it!Is that—”

“I don’t know.”

On the television, he watched Tony hit the water in a red and gold streak.He was under for what seemed like five whole minutes.James hung on the silence, and he was sure he wasn’t alone, because on the news, they said, “Iron Man seems to have spotted something!”

“It’s…” he said at last, unable to hide his disappointment, “it’s just…”

He broke the water.The shield glinted on his arm, rivulets of water shimmering behind it like a patriotic comet as Tony flew to the riverbank.He sat there with it, faceplate up, momentarily overcome, and the internet news feeds went crazy as James watched.

“It’s Captain America’s shield,” they said needlessly on the television.“Oh.Oh, my goodness, it’s the shield.”It was a hell of an image, Tony in his Iron Man suit holding Captain America’s shield and looking gutted.It would be the front page of tomorrow’s paper, James was sure of it. 

“Tony,” Clint said sharply, “you’re right, it’s just the shield.Which means Steve is still out there.”The determination in his voice was unflinching.“Dead or alive, we’re bringing him home.”

“You’re damn right we are,” Sam echoed.

Tony pulled himself to his feet, flew the shield up to Clint, and kept looking.

 

 

 

It was almost nightfall when they found him.Clint spotted something odd on the riverbank a half mile down from the Triskelion and told Tony to check it out.

“Holy shit.”

James sat up very straight at the tone in his voice.

“What is it?” Clint demanded.

“I got him.”Tony sounded like he couldn’t get enough air.

“Start talking!” Sam nearly shouted.

“He’s alive.”

Oh, thank fuck. 

“He’s…he’s been shot.And beaten up pretty badly.”A ragged laugh that held no humor escaped Tony.“The tide hid him.That’s why I couldn’t find him on the infrared scanner.If not for that we would have found him hours ago.He’s burning up.”

“Nat, nearest Level I trauma center?” Clint asked.

There was a pause, but then her voice came over the line with a name and address.

“On our way,” Clint said.“Let them know we’re coming.Someone bring James.” 

 

 

 

It was a _nightmare_ , being back in the hospital.Sam did most of the talking because James could barely handle being there, so fraught were the memories of his own near-death in the Battle of New York.And he loved Sam, loved him _so much,_ because when some uptight hospital administrator tried to bar him from Steve because he was neither spouse nor family in the traditional, accepted sense, Sam asked them, deadly serious, if they _really_ wanted to be the ones that made headlines for discriminating against a national hero and his loved ones today. 

So they watched from behind a glass wall as the doctors cut Steve’s clothing away until he was naked, his uniform falling to the floor in bloodstained shreds.Watched them turn him and prod him carefully to map the full extent of his injuries.Then there were two rushed scans.Mercifully, Steve stayed unconscious through all of it, his skin gray and dewy with sweat and his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

It was bad.Four gunshot wounds, one stab wound, two bullet-instigated fractures (left femur and one of his vertebra), six more fist-instigated fractures in his face.Some bleeding in his brain.Possible spinal injury and definite perforated stomach and small bowel injury.Long story short, the contents of his digestive system were spilling into his abdomen, poisoning him.Never mind the Potomac’s finest bacteria seeping through his many open wounds.His body raged with fever, fighting both, and while it did that nothing else could heal.He was a hair’s breadth away from organ failure and septic shock. 

But as bad as it was, James knew a normal person would have been dead before the helicarriers even finished their descent into the river.Steve laid on a riverbank for eight hours, mortally wounded, and he was still here.He would make it.He would pull through.

The lead doctor shared none of the hospital administrator’s qualms.She came right up to James and addressed him as a person fully within his right to be there and make decisions on Steve’s behalf.

“He needs surgery,” she said.“We’ve got to repair his stomach and small bowel.”

“Yes,” James said.“Do it.”

She nodded.“He apparently has an advanced directive stored at SHIELD along with the rest of his medical records, but no one can seem to find any of it.It’s a zoo over there.So I’m asking you, Mr. Barnes.If things go bad during surgery…if he stops breathing or has a cardiac arrest, do you think he would want us to do everything possible to save him?Or do you think he’d want us to let him go?”

He knew this conversation.He’d had it before his own dozens of surgeries, because there was always a chance he might not wake up, or wake up very different.In his gut he knew that maybe eighteen months ago Steve would have said not to resuscitate him.And on paper, that wouldn’t be so strange, for a lonely 95-year-old to want to die in peace.But now…

“Full code,” James said.“Do everything.”

 

 

Steve came through the surgery without a problem.With his insides repaired and a virtual flood of antibiotics, his fever went down and his vitals stabilized.Once that happened, they could _see_ his body healing itself; the stab wound on his right shoulder, which they had carefully washed out and sutured, became nothing more than a pink line overnight.Little by little, the superficial wounds closed and disappeared, and the same was happening inside, though at a slower pace. 

After his abdominal injuries, they had been most worried about his spine.Yet the fracture looked better on every x-ray and his reflexes and sensation seemed normal.At least as far as they could tell with him still unconscious.The only way they could have any idea was to dig into the nail beds of his toes and see if he reacted.He did, every time, pulling away from the pain.James had to keep reminding himself that it was a good thing - that they weren’t hurting him for nothing.

However amazing it was to behold that body putting itself back together, it still took almost three days for Steve to open his eyes.

 

 

 

It was in the quietness of night, Marvin Gaye playing softly in the background, that he surfaced.He’d been aware of the music and the voices for maybe half a day now, though his perception of time could have been off.It had been when he thawed from the ice.They didn’t know how early he’d been _aware -_ though there was a difference between awareness and actual comprehension, that was for sure.

He felt the blunting dullness of medication in his body.Warmth, blankets, and the thin, plastic mattress that wasn’t as uncomfortable to him as it was to everyone else.The faint whir of an IV pump.Hospital.

So he was alive.

Steve pried his eyes open.Sam was there, reading.

“On your left,” he mumbled, eyes already feeling heavy.Sam turned, and a small, glad smile pulled at his lips.He extended an arm over Steve and pointed.

“On yours.”

Steve turned, and there was James, asleep on a cot.Whole and alive.Happiness and relief clenched in his chest and he felt his eyes well.James was okay.Everyone was…?

“Where’s—” he started, trying to sit up.Sam’s hand halted him, pressing gently at his chest.

“There’ll be time for that in the morning,” he said.“Sleep.” 

He wanted to fight it, to get up and drag James into the bed with him and demand that they tell him everything, but Sam, he must be some kind of hypnotist or just a dirty rotten sneak who hit the IV pain medicine he’d just noticed and what the fuck was _in there_ , because Steve was slipping back down the well of dreams and —

 

 

 

Morning.

Sam was gone, probably in search of some sleep of his own.The cot was empty.Tony occupied the chair next to the bed.He was asleep with his mouth open.Steve fought a very real urge to throw something at him; it was what Tony would have done if their positions were reversed.

So he reached for the tray next to the bed, wincing as his stomach told him what it thought of him, and managed to grab a straw.The wrapper made a nice little projectile.He was aiming for Tony’s mouth but he missed.Even so, his reaction was worth it.As soon as it hit him in the cheek he startled awake, nearly falling out of the chair, letting out an incoherent, “Whaaa!”

Steve chuckled and immediately regretted it.It hurt.

“Shithead,” Tony said, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

The annoyance faded from his face.“Steve…”Guilt turned to alarm when Steve began to push the covers aside.“What are you doing?”

“Going for a walk.”

“You have a broken leg and a broken back, idiot.”

Steve wiggled his toes.The burning pain and numbness were gone, and his leg felt fine.Maybe a little sore, but nothing that would stop him.Tony sighed and began to unplug his IV pole.Thankfully Steve felt the tug on his thigh before he walked away with his catheter still hooked over the bedrail.Tony gave him a look that said _close call_ before he graciously tied Steve’s gown without even one snide comment.

He let Tony think he was holding on to the IV pole for his sake, but really, he needed it.He felt weak and wrung out and his stomach hurt.Well, more than his stomach hurt, but…

“Everyone’s okay?” he asked, as they wandered the halls.

Tony nodded.“Nat’s a little beat up, but nothing she can’t shake.Sam, too.”A wry smile touched his lips.“Bruce sends his well wishes.He had to lock himself up when it was happening to keep the Other Guy under control and he still doesn’t trust himself.”

“Could’ve used him,” Steve murmured, though he knew, deep down, that there was a time limit on Bruce’s membership in the Avengers.“Could’ve used _you_.”

“I know.James chewed my ass out, believe me.So did Pepper.And Clint.”He shrugged.“I’m ready, if you want your turn.”

“No.I already said what I needed to.”

They shuffled on in silence. 

“Not everyone’s okay, Steve,” Tony said.“A lot of good SHIELD agents - _real_ SHIELD agents - died.”

He nodded.That he expected; he’d seen the bodies on the airstrip, known that people other than him tried to stop the helicarriers from launching.

“Death toll?”

“Somewhere around 300.That includes Alexander Pierce and three members of the World Security Council.No civilians, though.”

“They were going to kill twenty million,” he breathed.“ _Twenty million_.” 

It hung between them, a number neither of them could really comprehend.Steve was slowing down and Tony knew it; his hand was gentle but persistent on Steve’s back, turning him toward his room.

“The Winter Soldier,” Steve said, testing.“Is he in custody?”

“No.In the wind, I guess.”Tony looked him up and down.“He the one who worked you over?” 

“Yeah.”Steve looked at his feet, clad in gray hospital socks. _He’s also the one who pulled me out of the water,_ he wanted to say.He had one blurry but definite memory of Bucky’s face above him, water dripping off the ends of his long dark hair as the sun glinted behind him.Bucky had saved him. _Bucky_ , not the Winter Soldier.

“I’ll bet he’s a little worse for the wear, too.”

Steve nodded, thinking of the crack of Bucky’s arm as it broke, and the steel girder pinning him across his chest and pelvis.Bucky was somewhere licking his wounds.Steve hoped with soul-burdening desperation that wherever he might be, he was warm and safe, and not back in the clutches of Hydra.

They hadn’t told Tony who the Winter Soldier was.Steve was sure of it, by the easy way Tony spoke of him, and by the lack of questions.Tony had proven time and time again that he needed to know everything about everyone.If he had any inkling about Bucky, he wouldn’t have been able to restrain himself.

Since the bunker at Camp Lehigh, Steve had agonized over what to say to Tony, or if he should say anything at all.He had every reason not to repeat what he had seen.Why dig up old pain?And why paint his best friend a murderer?He was no fool; he knew the Winter Soldier had killed a lot of people.He’d seen it before his very eyes, nearly been a victim himself.But Bucky…

Where was Bucky in all that?And where was he?

He didn’t know.

Tony mistook the pain in his face as something physical.“Okay.Back to bed, tough guy.”

Steve nodded and let Tony herd him to his room.Even let him pull the covers up.Steve turned onto his side, back to Tony; suddenly he couldn’t look at him.

“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” he snarked.

“Only if you want the death toll to be 301,” Steve snarked back, and it was a horrible joke, vile, in fact, but it was exactly the kind of thing that would make Tony laugh.He did, a short bark of dark, forbidden mirth, and Steve felt like he was dying all over again.

 

 

 

“Hey, baby.”

He felt James’s fingers slide through his hair and he turned to his warm hand. 

“Tony said you’re not feeling good.” 

Steve shrugged.

“You should stop watching the news.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, but made no move to change the channel.It started to hit him after Tony left.It was a lot.

People forgot _so quickly_.Already they had left behind how close they came to death and totalitarianism, and started in on the loss of their precious intelligence systems.The ones Hydra had built, so everyone would know just how unsafe they were all the time, so the idea of security became more important than freedom, than respect for life.The Vice President, in particular, was making his displeasure known to anyone who would listen.How the man thought intelligence sifted through the filter of Hydra could be reliable or free of manipulation was beyond him.None of it could be trusted worth a damn.

The thing that really got him was that the satellites were still up there; they could still be used for the purpose originally claimed by the Council.Everyone could spy on each other from orbit, as promised.It made Steve itchy, to think of being watched like that.

All in all, he felt a little unstable.Like he had those early days after admitting he was not okay, when time would seize up and he felt _suffocated_ by the strain of existence.James’s hand trailed to his chest.His heart pounded, taxed by the whirlwind of emotions.

“Do you want me to call Roz?” 

He should say yes.

“No.”

“I’ll give you today,” James said, “but I’m calling her tomorrow.”He turned off the television and eased into the too-small bed.Steve lifted the blanket for him and burrowed gratefully against his familiar warmth.

 

 

 

“Aww, how sweet.”

Steve cracked an eye open.Natasha was leaned up against the door.He put a finger to his lips; James was asleep.But even as he did it, James began to stir, and as Natasha made her way into the room his breathing changed.Half-awake, he stretched against Steve and slid his hand around to cup his ass.Of course Natasha noticed. 

Gently Steve nudged James fully awake and tilted his neck toward Nat.He withdrew his hand when he realized they had an audience, but didn’t quail under her raised eyebrow.Steve was pretty sure that was one of the reasons she liked him.

James dragged himself out of the bed and hugged her.She hugged back briefly; like Bruce, she was not generally a hugger, but she made exceptions from time to time.

“Hell of a job with the video,” she said.

“Thanks.Wish we hadn’t needed it.”

She nodded, eyes down.“There’s a lot of that going around.”Steve could see the strain on her, as rare as the hug. 

James seemed to know that she wasn’t there to talk to both of them.“I’m going to grab something to eat.Either of you want anything?”

They both shook their heads.

“Okay.Back in a bit.”Then he was gone.

“Hey,” Steve said, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” she echoed, sitting down in the chair across from him, steely, straight.Armed, though not with weapons.

It had been, what…four days now?For 96 hours Natasha had been dealing with the press, the government, the _world_.And she had done all that after revealing her own checkered past to those very same people, while still recovering from a gunshot wound.It was no wonder her guard was up.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” he said.“I should be out there with you.”

“The only place you should be is here, recovering.”

“I’m fine.”

“A few more hours on that riverbank and even you wouldn’t have survived.You can take a break from playing the hero, you know.”

“Not when people are trying to twist things so we’re the villains.”

She snorted.“So you’ve been watching the news.”

“They’re still out there,” he said, with leaden certainty.

She didn’t have to ask who ‘they’ were.They’d scattered the roaches by turning on the light, sure, but there were always the ones who stayed hidden in the wall. 

“It’ll blow over,” she murmured.

Steve sighed.“I know I need to stand up there and talk to them when I get out of here.I’m just so afraid I’ll say the wrong thing.”

She reached over for one of his juice cups, punctured it with her nail, and drained it in one long sip.Natasha licked her lips and then said, “Actually, you’re pretty good at saying the right thing.”

“What good is saying the right thing when people don’t want to hear it?”

“They’ll hear it from you.”She smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes.“From you, it’ll be like a parent telling a child they’re disappointed in them.Not that I’d really know what that’s like, but I hear it’s effective.”

“Sure is,” Steve agreed, thinking of the handful of times his mother had used that line on him.Christ, talk about wanting to disappear into a pit in the earth.He tilted his head, eyeballing her.“Are you telling me to shame America?”

“Maybe.”

Well.That was a new approach.

“I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Good,” she said.She picked at a cuticle.“I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“No.”She was looking down at her feet again.“Friends shouldn’t lie to each other.” 

“You’re right,” he murmured, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze.“They shouldn’t.”

 

 

 

He told James first.Words were easy, just sounds slipping past the tongue; the impact was the hard part.He watched his face.Saw the disbelief, the doubt, the confusion, and the outright worry.

_The Winter Soldier is Bucky._

_“_ I’m not crazy,” Steve said. 

He was more irritated than he might have been because they kept playing footage of him on the news.The cameras at the Smithsonian had caught him stealing the suit and then sitting there, gutted, at the foot of the Howling Commandos display.Some pundit was rambling on about theft and destruction of museum property.The Smithsonian didn’t seem to care; they had already released a statement saying that the suit was his property anyway and thanking him for the sacrifice.

They couldn’t seem to stop fixating on his mental health.That same pundit from the morning he’d nearly put a bullet in Maria’s laptop was still harping on about him being mentally unstable, calling for him to be tested to make sure he was fit to serve.The only comforts were that no one seemed to agree with him, and that Anderson Cooper was serving some class-A shade every time the guy opened his mouth.

“Well wouldn’t you be upset, Kyle, if an organization you thought you died to destroy was alive and well and this close to turning a gun on every person on the planet?Wouldn’t you be upset if you thought you’d have to give your life again to stop it?”

_Thanks, Anderson._

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” James said.“Just…are you _sure?_ ”

“Yes.”

“I guess I just don’t understand how that’s possible.”James wasn’t looking at him, and his jaw was tight.

“All I can tell you is that in 1943, I found him strapped to a table in Arnim Zola’s lab muttering his serial number over and over again.”Steve rubbed his temples; he hated the memory, even now.Even though, at the time, it meant Bucky was alive and safe.“The other prisoners said Zola did experiments on people, and none of those poor souls ever came back.I have no idea what Zola did to him, he wouldn’t talk about it, but Zola was a madman.He and Schmidt were obsessed with the serum.If Zola was trying to recreate it, why wouldn’t he use prisoners of war to test it on?The Nazis were bad and Hydra was worse and Zola was _both_.”

“So you think whatever they did to him, it worked.Made him like you.”

“How else could he have survived?”

Steve saw the wheels turning in James’s head.Watched him realize that what Steve had been through with the Valkyrie and Insight wasn’t so different from Bucky’s supposed death.He swallowed, and finally he looked at Steve.

“Steve, he tried to kill you.”

“I know.”People kept telling him that, like he hadn’t been there to experience it himself.

“What if he does it again?”

“He won’t,” Steve replied, absolutely certain.

James sighed and tugged at the ends of his hair.“How can you know that?”

“He knew me.He remembered.” 

James was unconvinced, face a mix of fear and wary doubt, the kind that said _not trying to imply that you’re nuts but I don’t believe a word you’re saying._

“He’s the only reason I didn’t drown in the Potomac,” Steve risked.“He jumped in after me and pulled me out.” 

He hadn’t told many people because he couldn’t stomach this, the sadness, the pitying look that was sure he wanted it to be true so badly that he’d fooled himself into believing it.Steve knew he wasn’t in good shape when he hit the river, but he also knew what he saw.Bucky pulled him out of the water, dragged him to shore, and made sure he was breathing before he left.And the rational part of him said it was just tit for tat, repayment for lifting the steel beam off Bucky, but in his heart Steve knew it was something more.He knew what had awakened in Bucky’s eyes before he fell.

“So _what_ ,” James replied, frustration seeping through.“So what if he pulled you out of the water, he still left you there to die of the wounds and injuries _he_ inflicted!” 

“That isn’t the point!”

It was James’s turn to rub his temples.When he spoke his voice was low and patient.

“I’m not trying to fight with you, Steve.All I’m trying to say is that you have a blind spot a mile wide for this guy.He isn’t the person you knew.The Bucky you’ve told me about would never have done these things to you.You can’t assume there’s anything left of him.He’s dangerous.And if you were his mission, he might try again.”

“He’s not going to hurt me.”He was being stubborn, digging his heels in, he knew that, but _why wouldn’t anyone fucking believe him_?He hadn’t felt alone in a good long while but right now it was creeping up on him again.That feeling of being on a different wavelength than everyone else.

_Why can’t you just trust me, why can’t anyone just believe what I say?_

It was different than before.Before he felt like a baby that had just opened his eyes.He didn’t know anything.This time around, he knew _everything_.He was the expert, he knew Bucky best, and nobody would listen to him.That…that was like the ultimate gaslighting. 

_We know your best friend better than you_. 

_You can’t possibly be rational about this, you’re emotionally compromised._

_You want to see the situation through rose-colored glasses._

There was nothing fucking rose-colored about what had been done to Bucky.Steve wasn’t stupid.He knew how far gone Bucky had to be in order to do the things he’d done in the last few days, let alone the years before that.None of that changed how he felt - what he _knew_.The real Bucky was still in there, and nothing on earth could dissuade him of that. 

“Steve, please,” James said, pulling him back.He looked tired and more than a little fragile.That was what gave him pause.

As long of a week as it had been for Steve, he was used to this kind of thing.James wasn’t.Chances were he was just as angry and scared and scraped raw as Steve by the whole situation.Now he’d been sitting in a hospital for almost a week watching his boyfriend recover from near-death.He didn’t need to ask to know that if there was one place James didn’t want to be, it was the hospital.

That made two of them.He wanted to go _home._ But what was that, now?The place in Dupont with bullet holes and bugs in the walls, and the sweet blonde neighbor spy?No.No, what he wanted more than anything right now was James’s old apartment in Prospect Heights.Small, cluttered, simple, private, _home_.

He reached for James.He folded willingly into his arms and Steve rested his nose against his dark, lustrous hair.

“I love you more than anything,” he murmured.“You know that, right?”

James nodded against his chest.

“We couldn’t have won this without you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” Steve said.He was as sure of that as he was of Bucky’s lingering humanity.

“You’re generous,” James replied.“And full of shit.”

“I _am_ full of shit, I haven’t gone in days.Should’ve warned me about that.”

James chuckled and wormed out of Steve’s arms.“Probably should have.   I’ll get you some prune juice, old man.”

“Oh, yes.And put the baseball game on the radio before you go, darling.”He said it lightly, as a joke, but James didn’t take it that way; he got a look of concentration on his face, poked at his phone for a few minutes, and found a stream of a Dodgers game.Not the team from Brooklyn, but the Dodgers nonetheless.He smiled, set his phone down on the rolling table, and went in search of prune juice.

Steve settled back into the bed and stared at the ceiling.The conversation wasn’t over, not with himself or James, or with Tony, who was coming in tomorrow at Steve’s behest after a short trip to Malibu.He didn’t know what he was going to say to him, but he knew he had to say _something._ He closed his eyes and let the familiar rhythm of the game soothe his mind.

There was one person in the world that he felt safe enough to say anything to, even when they weren’t sweet on each other and the words might not be kind.He gave in to the longstanding urge to speak to him out loud. 

“Los Angeles, Buck,” he sighed to the hospital walls.“Can you imagine?”


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes here. At this point, the story expands from two POVs to three, because Bucky has awakened. To that end, be warned that Bucky is Very Not Okay. Also, warning for implied past non-con and misunderstood sexual interactions (observed only). And some blood/violence.
> 
> If you hover over the Russian text with your mouse, there will be an English translation.
> 
> This is a hard chapter for every character. The next one will be, too, but it WILL get better, I promise.

It is cold.The shoulder aches.

( _ribs too)_

Inconsequential.

He knows he must report.There are two facilities nearby.Odds of compromise low; the flaming wreck downriver holds all the attention now.

He smells of murky water.Strings of water weeds are caught in the many crevasses of the tac gear.It makes him conspicuous.

_(why did you leave him go back go back)_

"нет.”Be silent. _Be silent._

He steals clothing from a garbage bag behind a donation center.The garments are musty, but do the job of concealing him.He takes a backpack, too, and stuffs the discarded tactical clothing in there, along with extra socks.He doesn’t know where it comes from, the sudden certainty that he cannot bear wet feet when he’d never noticed the state of his feet before.

( _always need two more pairs than you think)_

The first location is deserted.There is a fine layer of dust on everything.No one has been here for a few months.He looks at the cryo station; wires spill from an open panel, disconnected.He frowns.

There is currency here, at least.Ten thousand.Sufficient.

The second location is sure to yield better results.

 

 

 

The voice will not be silent.It is like a commlink embedded in his brain, full of inane chatter from nowhere.

_(you hurt him)_

Shut up.

_(you hurt Steve)_

Rogers, Steven Grant.Level 6 target.Nothing more.Though perhaps his threat score should be upgraded, for he breathes incantations like a handler, _withyoutiltheendoftheline_ , things that made his mind blur and quake and _change_.

_(you left him to die)_

He has killed many.One more doesn’t matter.

_(it matters pal)_

Shut _up._

 

 

 

There is something like desperation building in his chest.He only knows it from watching it take hold of others before he kills them.It is awful.

There is no one at the vault.No doctor, no handler, not even expendable security.The labyrinthine rooms yawn empty.The chair sits benign, like a dead crab on its back.

_(lotsa them on Coney Island, picked apart by the birds)_

He finds the mouthguard, sits with it between his teeth.He bites into the rubber and wishes for the machine.It would quiet the voice. 

Voices.

There are two now, and his head aches.

 

 

 

There are other locations further afield, and he knows he should go, but he can’t.The televisions say they have found Rogers, Steven Grant, and he is alive but in critical condition.

_(he_ ** _would_** _kick and scream at the Pearly Gates)_

He sits.Stares.

He does not understand the thing in his chest. 

 

 

 

Relief.It’s relief.

He has only ever felt relief that he completed a mission and avoided punishment.Why should he feel relief at failure?Failure has never led to anything good.

Failure leads to punishment and reprogramming and—

_(don’t think about it)_

That is the first sensible thing the voice has said since it began its narrative.

 

 

 

They are so stupid.The news lets his location slip and he’s gripped with a sudden urge to go to the hospital.His mind screams at him to go and finish his mission. 

_(DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE)_

His legs almost go out from under him from the force of it. 

 

 

 

It feels like his mind is being split.Like hot knives are being driven into his skull. 

Like the chair.

The voice screams at him.Rants and begs. 

_(you know him he’s your friend he won’t fight you he saved you HE LOVES YOU—)_

 

 

 

From his vantage point on the tiered rooftop he can see Rogers, Steven Grant arrayed in a hospital bed.There are wires and tubes all over him.He remembers the feeling of his facial bones breaking beneath his metal fist.The red of the water.

_(you jumped in)_

He growls.The headache is unrelenting.

_(because you knew him)_

Why won’t it _stop?_

_(BECAUSE YOU LOVED HIM)_

 

 

 

He lays there for thirty minutes, trying not to hear the voice.

 

 

 

It never.Stops.Talking.

 

 

 

Black Widow and Falcon are there with him.He has realized that they will fight to their own deaths to shield Rogers, Steven Grant from harm.In prime condition this would be of little concern, but as he is now…

As he thinks it, Romanova, Natalia stands up.

 

 

 

She knows.Somehow, she knows.

Her threat level should also be upgraded.No one has ever survived being shot by him twice…

_(except Steve, you shot him three times, you fucking asshole)_

She’s on the roof, green eyes sweeping.He knows, instinctively, that she is armed to the teeth and will put every bullet she has in his body.There is no kevlar in this civilian clothing.He would survive, but it would be quite uncomfortable.

She speaks in Russian.

“не пытайся. это будет ваш конец.”

He believes her.

 

 

 

Now there is a third person he doesn’t recognize, a man.He touches Rogers, Steven Grant.Not like a doctor; no, he touches like the target is a possession…

He touches like a handler.

_(don’t think about it)_

But he _must._ Him, too. _Him, too_. 

The edges of his vision start to fade.The stomach is sick.

_(told you not to think about it)_

The gun comes up in his left hand.The scope isn’t on Rogers, Steven Grant.It’s on the handler.He could do it.It would be easy. 

He expects the voice to chime in, to tell him no like it has every time he’s considered violence since dragging himself and the target out of the river, but there is only silence.He refocuses on the scope.Unfortunately, in the moment of distraction, five or six new people have entered the room, and the handler has backed away from the bed.The people begin to disconnect some of the wires and tubes.

They’re moving him.This, he realizes, was intensive care, and he doesn’t need it anymore.He’s healing.He tries to track where they take him, but wherever it is, it’s nowhere he can see.He is certain the Widow is responsible. 

_(at least someone knows how to protect him)_

 

 

 

 

He leaves the hospital.His physiological needs are too great to risk staying.The body needs nourishment and sleep.Time, also, to heal the arm and the ribs.

_(bout time you figured that out)_

There is a safe house in Cathedral Heights.He doesn’t go there.Every part of him screams that he should, but he…

He wants more information.Needs it.Every trail toward his overseers has run cold so far.His mind drifts to the cryo chamber, the mess of wires - were they not planning to refreeze him?His stomach clenches at the thought.To be awake and perpetually at the disposal of his commanders sounds like agony, though it should be all he wants.There is something very wrong with him to even have these thoughts. 

To have _thoughts_ at all.

But it _is_ agony, his mind insists, frenzied and reckless and overwhelmed the way it was on the helicarrier.People didn’t always need killing, so they found other things for him to do…

_(one day you’ll listen when I tell you not to think about it)_

“это ваше, также,”  he growls.

The other voice falls silent.

 

 

The compulsion is too great.He goes to Cathedral Heights.

The house is empty, but there are signs of life.People have been here.They might return soon.He sits.Sleeps with his eyes open.

An hour later he hears voices.There is no _stealth_ to any of these people, not ever.A tremor starts deep in his muscles as they come up the stairs.

_(yeah, buddy, maybe this is ours together, but it doesn’t have to be anymore)_

He bites his tongue.He is obedient.He must return to his handlers.

_(you said you wanted more information, go get it)_

нет. нет. 

_(you know why they keep you isolated, why there are no televisions, no newspapers. they control what you know, who you are, what you do, and you just crawl for them)_

It’s easier that way.This is what he is.He has never been anything else.

_(crawl on back, baby, crawl on back)_

The target’s face flashes before his eyes, his lips forming the word _Bucky_ , insisting that he knew him…

_(get on your knees, soldat)_

The shaking gets worse, all but the left arm.Never the left arm.But just before the door opens, he goes still.His muscles contract with purpose and he’s out of the chair.He vaults silently over the couch and crouches there, where they won’t be able to see him.Nothing in the apartment is disturbed.They made sure he was an expert at leaving no trace and this is no exception.

Two men walk in with plastic bags full of food.The smell hits him and he salivates reflexively.His stomach cramps.It has been days since he ate.Sometimes they tube fed him, sometimes they let him have real food, but nothing like what these men have.Nothing designed to taste good.Nutrients only.Machines weren’t supposed to care what form their fuel took.

“I can’t wait to leave this place, it smells like mildew.Fucking killing my allergies,” one of them says.“How long are we going to sit here?”

“It’s only been three days.If he’s injured he might be laying low.”

“He’s programmed to drag his ass back to Hydra no matter what.I’m starting to think he’s either dead or gone rogue.”

They are talking about _him_.

“He’s dead no matter what,” the second man says.

What.The fuck.Does that mean.And why does the word Hydra set his teeth on edge?It never has before.Faces parade before his eyes; Rogers, Steven Grant, a man with cold eyes behind round, gold-rimmed glasses and someone - _something_ \- else, with red skin and a flat, shadowed slope where his nose should have been. 

“Poor slob.Doesn’t know he’s outlived his usefulness.He’ll kneel down for his own execution.”He unwraps a sandwich.“It’s really a marvel of psychological conditioning.”

“Think they’ll let us do it?”

“Maybe.”The man takes a bite of his sandwich and talks with most of it still half-chewed.“I don’t know about you, but I heard he’s real good with his mouth.If he shows up, you wanna…?”

“Hell yeah,” the other man agrees without hesitation.

Something lights in his chest.He doesn’t even need the other voice to taunt him.A knife is in his hand and sliding across the soft flesh of a throat, gushing blood onto the man’s chest and his sandwich—

_(what a waste of a perfectly good sandwich)_

_—_ even spraying across the table to the other man, whose eyes go wide in terror.

“Sput—”

He throws the knife, knowing what will happen if he finishes that word.It hits the man dead center in the forehead with the force of a hatchet, toppling him over in his chair.The impact against the floor is cannon-loud.

He freezes.There is no sound beyond the rush of blood in his ears.

Well, there are a few choking noises issuing from the first man.He stands over him, watching him struggle and bleed out.He doesn’t usually watch.The man tries to scream with his windpipe flayed open.There’s nothing but a faint, gurgling hiss of air. 

“душить,” he says between his teeth, and turns away.

 

 

 

When the man is dead, he sits at the table and helps himself to the second, still-wrapped sandwich.

_(pastrami.nice.)_

 

 

 

The sandwich makes his stomach hurt, but he keeps it down, and it is worth the temporary discomfort. 

 

 

 

He sleeps.Really sleeps, not the forced entombment of being frozen.There was no rest in that.

He’s made his bed in a condemned building.There are other squatters, many too befuddled by drugs to be any threat.Regardless, he shows his knife and his teeth and they edge away from him.He sets a perimeter trap anyway.He isn’t a fool; some of these people would sell their own mothers, or worse, for the ten thousand dollars rolled up in the bottom of his pack. 

_(they’d spend it all on dope, but you and I, we could have caviar, Boris!)_

“Я не Борис,” he says, irritated.The voice in his head has started to call him whatever generic Russian name it pleases.It seems to think they are not the same person.They live in the same body; how can they not be the same person?

_(until the other day you didn’t think you were a person, Dmitri)_

“You didn’t exist at all until a week ago,” he grumbles in English.It used to grate on him to speak it, but the more time goes by, the easier it feels.Less like sawdust in his mouth.

_(you sure about that?)_

He isn’t. 

The others look at him strangely when he speaks to the voice.That suits him just fine; it keeps them away.He has learned from them, though.He has learned that the indigent are all but invisible, that there are public bathrooms to wash in and soup kitchens to eat from.There are even some barbers that walk the streets and offer free haircuts.He is too nervous for that.

_(they think you’re sick in the head, Vladimir, darling)_

They aren’t wrong.He knows he’s sick.Healthy people don’t have voices in their heads.They don’t have metal arms, they don’t wake up screaming, they don’t have prodigious gaps in their memories.They don’t _kill_ people.They don’t submit to any old Мудак who knows the right words.

“Разбитую чашку не склеишь,” he murmurs, and curls up in his blankets to sleep some more.

 

 

 

“They going to let you out of here anytime soon?”

“I hope so.”They were letting him wear scrub pants and his own t-shirts now, and he was down to just one IV.The nurses assured him that was a good sign.

Tony pouted.“So you didn’t call to have Iron Man break you out?”

Steve wiped his hands on the rough fabric of the scrub pants.He wished it was as harmless as being a little stir crazy.He was, of course, but it was low on the list of what ailed him.He was supposed to tell Tony almost a week ago, but he’d been dragged into the media circus and special hearings on his engine build for the helicarriers and had to cancel.So now Steve had been holding it in for ten days.Ten days of nothing to do but try desperately not to relive it over and over again.

“No.I…”Here went nothing.“I have to tell you something, and I was too messed up over everything last week to bring it up.Sorry I made you come back.”

Tony sensed the shift in tone, and even if he hadn’t, it was impossible to miss the slight quiver in Steve’s voice.His mind was hardly ever still now, and with so much time to think he had realized how much this hurt; not only Bucky’s role in it, what Bucky had been made to do, but _Howard_.His friend.

“Okay,” Tony said, and he looked like he was bracing himself.“You can tell me anything.”

God, how he hoped that was true.

“You should sit down.”

“Steve, come on.I am the actual worst at suspense.”

Tony wouldn’t sit down, and Steve couldn’t stay down.He rose to his feet and went over to the window.The glass was cold under his fingertips.

_Like Bucky’s metal arm._ It felt like being punched with a block of ice.Fresh and shocking and _painful_.

“It’s about your parents.”

He saw Tony’s hands clench into fists in the reflection of the glass.

“Do _not_ tell me they were Hydra,” he said, low, scandalized.

Steve turned, as repulsed by the idea as Tony.“No.They weren’t.But Hydra…”He wished there was a softer way to do this - to tell him his parents had been murdered.“Their deaths weren’t accidental.”

There was a twitch in his jaw.Then a change to his eyes that Steve had never seen before, a darkening.

“You’re saying that Hydra killed them.”His voice was flat, but Steve knew that a seething anger lay beneath and Tony was trying not to show it.

“Yes.”He swallowed hard.“The Winter Soldier killed them.”

Now Tony sat, legs depositing him on the freshly made bed Steve pointedly stayed out of so they might get the message that he was fine and let him leave.He put a hand over his face and squeezed at his temples with his thumb and middle finger.

“How do you know?” he asked, voice partially muffled.

“In the bunker at Camp Lehigh—” _behind pictures of Peggy and Howard!_ his mind screamed, “they were hiding Zola.His brain.On tapes.Like…like JARVIS.But not artificial.”

Tony’s hand dropped from his face.There was a glimmer of interest in the mask of grief it revealed.“An actual human consciousness?”

“Yes.”

“Zola was Schmidt’s mad scientist?”

Steve nodded.He forced himself to go on, and the words were bitter in his mouth.“Apparently SHIELD recruited him after the war.They knew what he did and they still brought him on.”Anger welled hotly, molten in his veins.How _could_ they, when they knew what that man had done to Bucky? 

Steve made sure it was in the report even if Bucky never put it in his.He’d seen Zola fleeing from the room where Bucky was held with his own eyes.It was his _office_.Bucky was strapped to a table in the man’s office like nothing more than another piece of furniture.

“He told you?”

“He showed me.”

“There are pictures?”Tony sounded horrified.

“No, he just showed me images of people Hydra killed.He said _accidents will happen_.”

“And my parents were in those images.”

Steve nodded again. “It was pretty clear what he meant.”

Tony let out a measured sigh.“That must have…I know you were close with…”

“Tony.”

He gave up the charade.His shoulders slumped and his hand shook when he pushed it through his hair.“I haven’t made it a secret that my father and I didn’t get along.But my mom…”He looked up at Steve.“I _loved_ my mom.And it makes me mad as hell that someone killed her.” 

He understood.Tuberculosis was just another kind of assassin.He wished he’d known Tony’s mother.Wished he’d been around.Maybe it would have done something to soften Howard, or to launch Tony into life with less baggage.

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated.“I should have told you right away.”

Tony whiffed a hand in the air.He seemed both slowed and weighed down, though the anger was still there.

“I wondered,” he said distantly.“But it was December, and it had snowed, and I hit black ice myself two days before on that same road.And I…I know I gave you so much shit, Steve, about recreational pharmaceuticals, but I was in a little too deep with booze and cocaine even before it happened.I wasn’t myself.”

The pharmaceuticals had never been recreational, exactly, but Steve let it pass.That wasn’t the point.He imagined it was hard enough to be twenty-one years old and so smart it kept you up at night.Add a distant but genius father, several masters’ degrees in progress at the same time to try to be good enough for him, and a tendency for mania, and you got Tony Stark trying to either keep himself awake or knock himself out by whatever method was available to him.Steve had no room to judge.Neither of them were poster children for healthy coping mechanisms.

“You were still a kid,” Steve said softly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, with more readiness than Steve expected.He looked Steve straight in the face.“I was a kid until Afghanistan.”And with that, he snapped his fingers and stood up.“Pack your things, Cap.I’m busting you out of here.” 

 

 

 

They had been at his place just long enough for two things to happen.One, Tony got drunk enough to speak freely, and two, Steve came to realize, unequivocally, that he didn’t want to live here anymore.All the charm and good feeling was gone from the apartment in Dupont.

“I’m sorry,” Tony slurred.

“For what?” Steve asked, glancing at the gin bottle to gauge how much he’d drunk.He’d have to cut him off soon.

“For not telling you.” 

About Insight, Steve assumed.He kept quiet.He _was_ a little sore about that.It was the deliberate nature of it, the assumptions that allowed people to feel like lying to him was the right thing to do. _Don’t tell Cap, he’ll never get on board, not with those old fashioned values._ Like his objections weren’t anything to take seriously because someone like him - someone so _old —_ couldn’t possibly understand the times.He understood things better than most of them.He had seen humanity at its worst long before surveillance satellites and suborbital guns.  __

“I just…” Tony started.“You didn’t see it, Steve.”

There was something in Tony’s voice - something haunted.“See what?” Steve asked.

He looked up and gestured at the ceiling.“Out there.I thought we only had to protect us from… _us_.That’s difficult enough.And then Thor came along, and hey, what a nice guy.But Loki, not so nice.The Chitauri, pretty shit.What else is out there, Steve?What else?”

The question hung in the air between them; the apartment was suddenly quieter than any place in a city ought to be.Silence in Tony’s presence was wrong unless he was working on something.It made Steve profoundly uncomfortable.

“I have seen it,” Steve said after a lingering moment.Tony turned to look at him, eyes bloodshot and disbelieving.“When I fought Red Skull on the Valkyrie, the Tesseract activated.I think I saw the Nine Realms.I didn’t put that last part it in my report because I was sure they’d think I lost my mind and not clear me for duty.”And of course, back then, work was the only thing he had.He shrugged, rubbing his fingers along the soft fabric of the couch.“I’ve never been brave enough to ask Thor if I was right.”

Tony sat back, considering his confession.“You falsified a report?”

“Tony, I got hit in the head a dozen times in that fight.Then I crashed a plane, and after that I was frozen for 67 years.It could’ve been a hallucination or a dream.I didn’t trust myself until I saw the Chitauri coming out of that portal over New York.Then I knew it was real.”

Tony blinked rapidly, trying to process.“A dream?You weren’t — you didn’t — you weren't _conscious_ in the ice, were you?”

“No.I don’t think so.”

“You don’t…think…so?”His eyes were saucers.

“Wouldn’t I have known time was passing, if I was?” 

“I have no idea,” Tony admitted, frowning, a tone of surprise in his voice.Something told Steve that if Tony remembered this conversation, he was going to find the answer to that question.He hoped Tony didn’t remember.He didn’t want to know.Not now, not ever.

The best thing to do was keep talking.Distract Tony from starting to strategize how to research.He plunged on, heedless of the anxiety building behind his sternum. 

“The whole time during the Battle of New York, I kept flashing back.The plane, and the water, and….the cold…” 

Later, he read what being frozen did to the body, how the water in cells expanded and formed sharp crystals as it froze, which in turn ruptured cell membranes and damaged blood vessels.That was what he felt; a million tiny knives shredding him from the inside. 

If it was cold enough, deep enough, it was supposed to stop hurting…

The thought broke some kind of seal inside him.Steve shivered involuntarily.He was flashing back _now_ , the Valkyrie and the helicarrier blending together, the last thought of _see you soon, Buck_ mingling with the memory of falling away from him, his face streaked with blood and tears and rigid with dawning horror.He felt the ice in his veins.Steve’s vision went dark and he forgot to breathe.He was under, murk in his eyes and ears and lungs, until Tony’s voice cut through. 

“Steve!Hey!No.No.Don’t — fuck.Fuck!JARVIS, what do I do?”

“Might I suggest what your therapist has recommended, sir?Deep breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth, and an assortment of mindfulness practices—”

“Breathe!” Tony demanded, missing the finer points of JARVIS’s instruction.He shook Steve by the shoulders and did something like Lamaze breathing, and the absurdity of it brought Steve back.He wasn’t in the water or the ice, not trapped in a grave of crushed metal; he was here.His apartment.Washington, D.C.With Tony Stark, who was going to lose his goddamn head if Steve didn’t calm down.

“Breathing,” he said, and forced himself into rhythm.It was Tony who matched him, in through the nose, out through the mouth.What was next?Mindfulness?Roz had taught him some of that and it did help, but right now he could only be _mindful_ that he hurt like Bucky had just shot him a second ago.

“I'm okay,” he said to Tony, willing it to be true.“I’m okay.I just don't like to talk about it.”

“Me neither.”Steve saw the switch flip, the last vestiges of Tony’s emotional restraint melting away.“Fuck, why did I drink all this?Steve, why did you let me?Did I not just tell you I had problems with booze?You’re an enabler.”

“Uh huh,” he agreed, because it was the only thing to do right now. 

“One for the memory of my mother,” Tony babbled.“And six for my old man!”He raised his glass in the air.The strange combination of grief and anger permeated his words.

Oh, boy.It was time to put someone in a cab.Or in his suit with JARVIS at the helm.Otherwise, it was going to get ugly, and Tony didn’t like when people saw him like that.He’d never said it, but Steve could guess.

“Tony,” he said gently, “I’m going to call Pepper, okay?”

“Pepper,” he echoed.“Oh, she is the greatest.Do you know that, Steve?The greatest.”

“I do know that,” he said, and there was nothing fake about the fondness in his voice as he dialed her number. 

 

 

 

He got home from work three hours after the text Steve sent saying that Tony was checking him out of the hospital.James didn’t need to ask to know that Steve wasn’t the one driving that bus.He worried, at first, about Steve being alone in the apartment, but his fears were eased when he got another text that Tony was with him.Or at least he had been, for a while. 

Unease was leaden in his stomach as he approached the door.He’d been thinking for days that they couldn’t live here anymore.Not only because it was bugged, but also because the Winter Soldier knew Steve lived here.James didn’t share Steve’s belief that he wasn’t a threat.It didn’t matter whose face he wore; he was dangerous and might want to finish what he started.Staying here was asking for trouble.

He knew Steve was very bitter about Kate - or Sharon, that was her real name - living next to them to catalog their every move, but right about now James would have welcomed her presence.The hospital wasn’t so bad because there were armed guards stationed throughout the wing and outside Steve’s room.Here, there was just a wooden door.That metal arm could punch right through it. 

He put his flimsy, breakable, singular arm against said door to push it open.He didn’t do it with any particular force, but he had a clear view of Steve jumping out of his skin at the noise.His hand went right to the shield and it took a good ten seconds for him to let it go.

“Hey,” he recovered, with a shake of his head.“Sorry, I was…thinking too hard, I guess.”

“I should have knocked.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.“On the door of your own apartment?”

He looked at Steve, at his beautiful face that was somehow still tired after ten days of convalescence, at their apartment which had been safe and welcoming until two weeks ago.Pain wedged in his chest and he lost control of his mouth.

“I don’t want to live here anymore,” James blurted.Then clapped his hand over his mouth, because fuck, he meant to say it at some point but not _now_.Steve didn’t need that kind of pressure.

Steve stood up and wrapped him into a hug.He was so good at that; in his arms, against his warm, sturdy body, all the tension that had built up in James melted away.He leaned into Steve and let himself be selfish for a few minutes.

Steve kissed him on the forehead and murmured, “I don’t, either.”

A rush of relief hit him, potent as a drug.Thank God.Thank God he wasn’t going to dig his heels in about this.Why he would, James had no idea, but Steve could be stubborn.It had only been little things so far, nothing an hour’s separation to cool down didn’t fix, but he’d seen a glimpse of something more concentrated in that hospital room.All of this with Bucky…there had been anger in Steve’s eyes, and defiance.Directed at _him_.That was new.

He knew that he couldn’t understand what Steve was going through.Probably no one could.He had a thousand reasons to be angry and just because he hadn’t reached that stage of grief in the year they’d been together didn’t mean he never would.Truthfully, though, James was scared.

Steve had endured so much.Kept it together, mostly.What if this was the thing that derailed him?If he decided to dig his heels in about Bucky, to lose himself in a delusion that the Winter Soldier had kept any part of the man he was born in, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade him.Not even James.

He had really hoped that they would catch the Winter Soldier while Steve was in the hospital.James was almost certain that part of the reason they kept him so long was that the hospital staff and law enforcement hoped the same - that they could discharge Steve home knowing the Soldier couldn’t get to him.It scared them, too, that someone strong enough to nearly kill Captain America was out there.But things were in absolute disarray after Insight and the Hydra data dump; the government didn’t know which way was up or who could be trusted within their own ranks anymore.Those circumstances made it all too easy for a person to disappear into the chaos.

James sighed heavily.He didn’t want to see Steve fall apart over this.He’d come too far, worked too hard, put himself on the proverbial cross for the country and the world, and this was his reward.Being haunted by his dead best friend.Dead _lover._

Steve had noticed the tension returning to him; he cupped James’s face in his hands.

“I missed you,” he breathed.

“You saw me this morning.”

“I know.”He nosed at his jaw.James felt his hand slide down to link fingers with his, and then Steve was pressing light, open-mouthed kisses along his neck.James understood then what he really meant.He missed privacy, intimacy, the ability to exist without an audience.The hospital had been a bit of a madhouse.The most well-meaning kind, of course, but still a lot.

James closed his eyes.It felt amazing, those lips on his neck.Steve’s breath, warm and reassuring and _there_.He wanted to ask how Tony convinced them to let Steve go, why there was a bottle of gin on the table, where the fuck they were going to live and how soon could they go, but more than that he wanted him.He wanted to undo everything about their last fraught encounter.

Steve kissed him and the questions evaporated.They weren’t important.He kissed back but before he could really get lost in it, Steve disengaged with a light graze of teeth and sank down to his knees.James made a sound of protest - he’d been sweating all day and was covered in cat hair and dog slobber and there was iguana poop on his sneakers, he needed a fucking shower - but Steve didn’t even seem to notice.Just tugged his scrubs down and got his lips around James’s cock like it was the only thing he’d wanted for days.And as always, all James could do was try to keep his knees from going out as the velvet heat of his mouth drove everything else away.

 

 

 

He leaves the squat.The newsfeed on the burner phone tells him that Rogers, Steven Grant has left the hospital.The pictures show him in the company of a man he hasn’t seen.He wears a nice suit and sunglasses, and has sharply groomed facial hair.A handler, probably, but not the same one as before.

There is no longer any intention to kill him.Rogers, Steven Grant did not kill him when he could have.They are the same thing, he thinks.Weapons to be pointed.

The media does not make the same mistake they did with the hospital.They don’t say where he goes.But real estate is public record and he knows his name, and it’s the work of ten minutes in a library to find out his address.That was something he learned from _his_ handlers.

When he searches, there is a result from a museum.There is an exhibit about Rogers, Steven Grant.He glares at the computer.Hydra hid him away, erased him from existence, but this one, they put him on display to show the entire world how they made him.The oatmeal he ate for breakfast threatens to come back up.

He masters the nausea and leaves the library, fingers itching to hold a gun.

 

 

He’d missed privacy, too, but this place wasn’t that anymore, and they both knew it.Even so, James was glad he was the one who went to the bedroom for the lube.Hydra had been here.The apartment was searched top to bottom.It was obvious that someone had come in afterwards and tried to put things back to some semblance of order, but now two groups of people had seen the tools of their sex life, in addition to Sharon _hearing it_ all the goddamn time.If Steve saw this it would ruin the mood faster than a punch to the nuts.

James sighed.Everything was there, but nothing was in the right place, and two of their positioning pillows had been slashed open.What did they think they’d hide in there?The formula to Erskine’s serum?And now that he was looking again, what kind of sick fuck stole a plug?It made him want to throw up in his mouth a little.Not that it was gone, just that it was gone because it was _theirs._ Somebody wanted that piece of them.Well, probably of Steve, if he was being honest.

It was killing _his_ mood, the longer he stood in here.He grabbed the lube and tried not to think about how it looked lower than it had before the world upended.If somebody fucking jerked off in their bedroom…

The sight of Steve pushed those thoughts aside.He was naked on the couch, flushed pink, that dopey, half-aware look on his face.James had thought about asking if anal sex was really a good idea so soon after his guts had been rearranged by a bullet, but some instinctive part of him knew that if Steve hadn’t asked the doctor, Tony had.In the absence of obnoxious signage or text messages, they were good to go.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” James replied, climbing on top of him carefully.Steve held him in the cradle of his thighs, raising up to kiss him again.God, it felt so good, Steve wrapped around him, hands sliding along his back and his ass, fingers teasing at his asshole.His cock gave a painful, insistent throb.Steve squirmed almost at the same time, restless, wanting it.

“Listen,” James said, trying to ignore what Steve’s hand was doing.“If anything hurts or feels weird, you gotta tell me.”

“I will,” Steve said breezily.Not paying attention to what he was agreeing to, the bastard.

“Steve.I mean it.If it feels even a little wrong, you tell me and we stop.”

“James, I’m fine.”

“Fine for you is different than it is for other people.Fine for you is you’ve got a pulse.I want better than fine.”

Steve’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.“I love you.”

“You’re a shit,” he replied, but he was stroking his cock, biting down on a moan.Then he turned his attention to Steve, working his liberally lubed fingers in gently to prep him, watching his face like a hawk for any sign of discomfort.There was nothing.Nothing except his quickening breath and soft sighs and his eyes going fuzzy with pleasure.Business as usual.

“James, come _on_ , I’m not getting younger,” Steve complained.

And it was so _normal_ , that banter, that he let go of the worries that plagued him and gave Steve what he wanted. 

 

 

 

This is the same place where he killed Fury, Nicholas Joseph.He is more certain than ever that he and Rogers are two sides of the same coin, servicing opposing factions.He can’t see him through the windows; they’re covered, and instinctively he stands out of line of sight—

_(finally fucking learned)_

He activates his earpiece, which will tap into the bugs in the apartment.Then he leans down to his scope.It’s infrared; he can see heat signatures through the walls.His stomach drops.

There are two people inside.One is on his knees in front of the other.The shape and bulk of Rogers, Steven Grant is unmistakable.He is the one kneeling. _Servicing_.

_Him, too._

He can hear the sucking noises.With a spasmodic movement, he disconnects the earpiece from the feed provided by the bugs.In the silence his ears ring. 

_Kill the handler.Kill him._

He waits for the voice.The one he has started to call Tom, Dick, and Harry, but mostly Dick in retaliation for the constant mocking of Russian names that aren’t his.It tells him not to kill other people but says nothing now.Why? _Why?_

He looks back into the scope.His breath is shaky and so is his aim.That doesn’t happen.This is what he’s made for.

His eyes slip to something he didn’t notice before.A tiny device on the rooftop, black, round.A camera.The Widow has been here and she can see him.

The earpiece crackles to life, interrupted by an RF signal.

“вы не хотите этого делать.Оставлять.”

“Yes I _do_ ,” he growls, voice thick.He doesn’t even know if she can hear him.

“I can help you,” she says.She sounds different in English, like he imagines he does.Softer, warmer.But she is a Widow.She can sound like anything she wants.

“Like you’ve helped him?” he bites off.

“Leave,” she repeats.“Or I’ll have to bring you in.”

He breathes.He knows from television that she dumped Hydra’s secrets onto the internet.What he doesn’t know is how much of that is about him.How much she knows.

“I don’t want to shoot you a third time,  вдова,” he warns.

“And I don’t want to use the words.” 

His blood goes cold.No. _No._ She can’t know.She may just be bluffing…

“Steve wouldn’t want me to, but I will,” she promises.“Put the gun away and leave.”

He looks back through the scope.He isn’t on his knees anymore.Now he’s reclining, presumably on the couch, and his body - he’s aroused.

_They made him like it._

Of course.Of course they did.He is the public model.

The handler returns, climbs on top of him, and fuck, the Bluetooth reactivated when the Widow began talking.He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear them, but he’s frozen.The handler penetrates him and he makes a sound - muffled but unmistakably pleasure - and it’s _familiar._

The rifle tips over.To him it’s like a firework going off but he’s far enough away, and they’re fucking, they don’t hear him.He presses his hands over his ears.

_(Steve, that’s Steve, YOU used to make him make that sound)_

And he can see it, that face underneath him, pink with the effort of keeping quiet, but he’s in a slender body with wiry muscles and a thick little cock that’s a perfect handful.He can _feel_ the charcoal-stained fingers pressing into his shoulders.

_Shoulder, shoulder, you only have one that he’s touched—_  

He runs.He likes that rifle, but he runs.

 

 

 

 

It was phenomenal, except Steve was much quieter than usual.There was no doubt that he enjoyed it; James had the bruises to prove it, but that in itself was strange.Steve was very conscious of his strength, even when he got lost mentally.Most often, he put his arms above his head and dug his fingers into his palms so he wouldn’t risk scratching or squeezing too hard.Just a little pressure from James would keep him like that, pliant, the touch a reminder.

Not tonight.Steve clung onto him, like every sound he wanted to make was coming out through his fingers, through the clench of his thighs.It didn’t _hurt_ , per se, but at times it felt like making love to a boa constrictor.A really gorgeous, really turned on boa constrictor that shivered silently through what was actually some of the best sex they’d ever had.

 

 

 

 

He can’t make sense of any voice in his head for days.He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t wash, and once he even forgets that he has to get up and piss.The people with cratered faces and rotting teeth look at him with distaste.With _pity_.

He lays curled around his bag.English and Russian ricochet through his mind, crashing together, warring, characters and syllables distorting to nothing.Noise.Electric.Burning.Some kind of jammed machine.He is the chamber, dismantled, the live wires of his consciousness all around.

He sleeps on and off but it’s hard to tell the difference between sleeping and waking.He breathes either way.It’s dark and vaguely cold and every time he jerks to awareness he expects to see someone looming over him, faceless.The urge to scream builds in his larynx like magma in a chamber in the earth.He dreams that he’s a golem, an approximation of man for man’s use, dumb, obedient, deadly.He’s crumbling without his creators.Just clay.

глина.глина.глина.

When he stumbles outside into bright sun he doesn’t know what’s real.Did he dream the screaming?The police?Did he kill anyone?Is this the dream?

Focus only comes when he realizes where his feet have taken him.He’s at the museum.In the exhibit.Why here?He doesn’t want to know how they made him. _He doesn’t._

But he sees a picture of a small blond man and it’s like a lens being turned.Everything sharpens, shivers into clarity.There’s still so much noise, _so much_ , but the knowing in his gut roots him there.

_Steve_.

_(yeah, Steve, of course they show him like this, like this guy was nothing)_

The voice had told him before that he loved him.

_(you did, pal, you do)_

The memory, then, of…

_(like that, yes)_

But something’s chasing it; Steve, bigger, red-eyed and stoop-shouldered, and a feeling of disorientation and anger so strong that it rivals this tenuous reality.He’s clawed and wild and Steve is the only prey.

_(he didn’t listen, he never listens)_

He forces himself to walk away from the image of the small man, all his flaws and failings laid out on a wall for the world to see.He thinks he understands the voice’s anger.There were other things.Other things about him that were…

_(perfect)_

He knows what Steve looks like now.Strange, though - there are other people in the display.A team.

_A STRIKE team._

Yes. 

A particular twitch hits him at the sight of a blue jacket on a mannequin.It’s a sick little feeling, low, rumbling.Like he should run.He doesn’t, though.He wants to know about this team because they aren’t the same as the ones who flank him now.No Widow, no Falcon, nor the man with the suit.

The world twists again at the next display.That is—that is—

_(your mug, pal)_

_Who_

_the_

_hell_

_is_

James “Bucky” Buchanan, it proclaims.

_Inseparable._

Wrong, wrong, he separated them, he knows—

_(fucking ripped his heart out and how do you go back—)_

Oh, God.Oh, God.That face is his.

 

 

 

Somehow he makes it out of the museum and back to the squat.He can hear himself as if from a distance.There’s a panicked cadence to his breath.

It’s all crashing in on him at once.Memories.Humanity.Pain.So much pain.

_With you till the end of the line._

_End of the line_

_End of the line_

He sits straight up, fear coursing through his body.

_End of the line_

That was it, wasn’t it, the thing that made him crazy, that stupid promise.

_(you didn’t know what it meant to say it, didn't know how literally he’d take it, but you meant it, pal, you did, we gave him permission, just never knew how bad it would get, how much he’d sacrifice)_

Steve will _follow_ him.Oh, _no_.

_(anywhere, everywhere, risk be damned, you can bet on that)_

The truth of it cuts down to the bone. He’d already become an Asset.A golem, just like him.But it can be worse.He knows that.

Steve can’t follow him.He can’t. 

_(but he doesn’t listen, he doesn’t—)_

“обработчик.”

Yes.Yes.The handler.No matter what Steve wants, he must obey his handler.

 

 

 

 

It went on like that for the better part of a week.Steve seemed pleasantly insatiable, and at first James thought he was okay, just trying to make up for the time apart.But it dawned on him on day six, as Steve came hard beneath him with his face pressed into a pillow, that he wasn’t okay at all.It was an awful feeling, realizing that and being so close to orgasm himself that he couldn’t do anything but chase the pleasure.Couldn’t stop himself from pressing deep inside him and groaning as his brain turned inside out.

He shouldn’t feel so _good_ when Steve felt so bad _._ He wanted to cry but the endorphins turned it into choked laughter and Steve kissed him, kissed him like he was trying to commune with his very soul, and he could only kiss back with the same conviction until he got his mind back to a place where he could think clearly.

James excused himself to the bathroom.His thighs were trembling, and so was his hand.He leaned against the sink.Then sat on the toilet and tried not to cry.Steve would know if his face got all red and splotchy.

This wasn’t just a honeymoon after almost losing each other.This was Steve falling back on an old coping mechanism.Relying on sex to feel a connection, to feel _anything_ good.To keep the demons at bay.

James didn’t know what to do.He loved Steve, would gladly fuck him ten times a day if he needed it and his body was capable, but it also felt like taking advantage of him when he wasn’t in his right mind.He acutely dreaded bringing it up in conversation.He’d have to, now.He wouldn’t be able to get it up, knowing how unhappy Steve was.

James flushed the toilet and ran the water.He took four deep breaths, and then he left the bathroom.He pulled on clothes without looking at them.

“I need some air,” he said as he made for the door.

“Oh—okay,” Steve stammered from his spot on the couch where he was winding down, bare ass still on display.He hadn’t moved since James pulled out.He sounded not quite there when he spoke, but also a little confused and hurt.

He shouldn’t leave him like this.He didn't do anything wrong.He was coping the only way he knew how when things were this bad.James went over and ran a gentle hand down his back.Steve relaxed under the touch, his hips easing down, his arms releasing their grasp on the pillow.

“Two minutes, babe,” he said after a while, willing his voice not to shake.“I just need two minutes.”

“Okay,” Steve replied, and it sounded completely different than the first time.James tugged a blanket over him, feeling vulnerable _for_ him, not wanting him to be so exposed.Steve offered him a tiny smile.“Come back soon.”

 

 

 

He went outside.Then changed his mind, because a news truck was always parked out front now, and someone jumped out of it the minute he found a place to lean against the building.James cursed under his breath and went back in.There was a courtyard in the back that you couldn’t get to without an access code.They couldn’t follow him there.

Thankfully, it was empty.Standing there in the early spring sun, he tried to review his options.Outwardly, Steve was fine.He took care of himself.He cracked a smile every now and then.He wasn’t doing or saying anything that was a red flag.But for the few who knew him, _really_ knew him, this was bad. 

He could call Sam.Or Roz.He had no idea if Steve had spoken to Roz since Insight, though he’d threatened to call her himself if he didn’t.Steve needed to if he hadn’t, and if he had talked to her, he needed _more_.But wasn’t it overstepping a bit to actually call her?He didn’t know the rules when it came to calling your boyfriend’s therapist. 

The same went for Sam.He’d already overshared about their sex life, and Sam wasn’t Steve’s therapist.He wanted to help Steve but he didn’t know how to do it without making it some kind of violation.

Tony?Tony had been at the trial, heard Steve talk about why he pursued sex after thawing out.He would understand James’s concern.However, of all the people he’d considered so far, Tony was the one Steve would least want him to talk to about this.Steve did trust him, but _he_ liked to decide what with, given Tony’s surprising propensity for verbal diarrhea.

 

 

JAMES: _Would it be weird if I called Steve’s therapist to ask her something?_

SAM: _About Steve?_

JAMES: _Yes_

SAM: _Depends what it is.Is everything ok?_

JAMES: _I just want to make sure he’s talking to her.He needs it._

SAM: _I think we all do.You seeing anyone?_

JAMES: _No but you’re right._

 

 

He did need to see someone.He had been joyfully reaming his boyfriend for a week now, oblivious to how miserable he was.Thinking _huh, he’s really handling this a lot better than I thought he would._ Nope.False on all counts.The quiet alone should have told him.Steve had given up on being quiet in Rio.

He’d already been out here way more than two minutes.In all likelihood Steve was asleep so it wouldn’t matter, but if he was awake, he might worry.James stuffed his phone in his pocket with a sigh.

That was when it happened.A hand clamped over his mouth, another around his waist, trapping his arm against his side.James froze. 

Whoever it was didn’t waste any time.Abruptly, he was dragged backwards, his heels leaving lines in the dirt.When his brain restarted and he realized he was being pulled toward the basement door, panic slammed him.

_Get away get away get away!_

He began to thrash, aiming for weak points like Sam and Natasha had taught him.James wasn’t small.He could put up a good fight if he needed to.But nothing he did, no twist of his body or kick or toss of head got him _anything,_ not a millimeter, not so much as a grunt from his captor. 

He tried to scream.He couldn’t even force air out hard enough to break the seal over his lips.But his mouth was open, his jaw - he was going to have to bite. 

His teeth didn’t find purchase in flesh.They glanced off something cold and hard, and he tasted—

_Metal_. 

Adrenaline spiked hard inside him, dumping anything rational out of his brain.He struggled until his muscles burned, until he nearly blacked out because that metal hand was over his nose, too, cutting off his air.He knew tears were streaming down his face.James went limp as the basement door closed and the little square of daylight faded.

He was going to die.

The Winter Soldier was going to kill him, and then he would go upstairs to kill Steve.

Oh, God.If he found Steve naked, drowsy, and weaponless, what would he do to him?

The hand eased and he could draw air through his nose again.It wasn’t enough.He felt hysterical, so gripped by fear that he was forgetting to breathe, forgetting to _think_.His head hurt and his lungs hurt and he didn’t want to die this way, _please_ — 

James fell hard when the Soldier released him because he never expected to be released.He thought that was the end, suffocated or crushed by those unyielding arms.He scooted backwards out of pure survival instinct.Much too quickly, his back hit a wall with enough force to rattle his teeth.The only sound was his gasping breath. 

They were in the storage units.There was one for each apartment, five feet by ten feet.This was his and Steve’s.The only things in here were a box or two and a roached out motorcycle that Steve one day wanted to learn how to fix.

_Guess that’s not happening!_

And he _had_ lost his mind, because the only thing he could think to do was open his mouth to scream.The Soldier was on him before his lungs could fill.James didn’t scream.There was a gun in his mouth.

He shook and waited for the other man to pull the trigger.It was cold and ferric and the size of it and the taste of the oil made him want to gag.He did gag a moment later.There was no controlling it; between the gun and the fight or flight and already feeling queasy from his realization with Steve, his stomach was primed to empty.

He thought he would at least have the satisfaction of hurling on the Winter Soldier’s boots, but the man danced back on incredibly light feet, and James retched and retched until he thought his head would explode.He trembled, bent in half.Then dry-heaved when he realized he wasn’t the first person to vomit out of fear at this man’s feet.

“This,” he said in a gravelly, Russian-accented voice, “is his handler?No wonder he is disobedient.”There was unbridled scorn in his voice.

His head throbbed and everything ached and his heart felt shattered, but the fear had gone with his lunch.Fear was pointless.It wouldn’t stop him.James bared his teeth.

“What do you want?”His voice was dry and cracked and his throat burned from the acid.Why did people ask that, anyway?If it was something James could give him, they wouldn’t be here, on the precipice of murder.It was nothing more than a stall tactic.Considering he’d turned up at least two dozen suspicious assassinations linked to this man in his research for the video, he was well versed in ignoring stall tactics.

There was no answer.When James looked up, something about the other man had slipped.The cold indifference was gone.He was staring at James, staring _hard_.At his arm, James realized.Or lack thereof.

Hadn’t he noticed when he picked him up that there was only one arm to restrain?

_It’s the same one.We both lost the same one._

A broken, horrible laugh came out of the Soldier.In an instant he was on him, the gun up against his neck this time.He was so close that he was astride James’s thigh, weight pinning him in place.James couldn’t look away from him.Blood pounded through his carotid underneath the cold, bruising steel of the barrel.

_He_ was crying now, gasping, making sounds of pain, hand clenching around the grip of the gun.His eyes were full of rage.There was no question that he wanted to pull the trigger.He wanted it so much that he _writhed_ with it.Ten times James closed his eyes, sure it was coming.But it didn’t.

“Don’t,” he started, and the Russian accent was less, somehow, “let him.”His breath was fetid.Face to face, he stunk like piss on a bus seat, and his skin and hair were dull with oil and dirt.

“ _Do you hear me_ ,” he growled, shaking James viciously.

“Yes!Yes!”James tried to turn his face away - the smell, mingling with the vomit, Jesus - but that metal hand was unyielding, clamped around his jaw.“D-don’t let him _what_?”

“Follow me.”His glance roved to things James couldn’t see.There was a flicker of something rational there, but only a flicker.The rest was noise, tics and twitches, relics of a mind long ago fractured.James watched with growing horror.The other James, Steve’s Bucky, definitely wasn’t home. 

_No problem, pal, don’t want him anywhere near you, send a card next time!_

“Don’t.Let.Him,” he repeated.He went very still.He was corpse white.Wild eyes tracked up to James’s.“They’ll make him like _me_.” 

With a concerted effort, the metal hand released and he backed away.For as crazy as he acted, his actions were decisive and controlled, like he couldn’t move any other way.James pressed back against the wall, watching him, his words echoing.

_They’ll make him like me._

And he saw it happen.Saw the Soldier take hold once he was back on his feet.The eyes went vacant, the muscles loose, all trace of emotion gone.James shivered.He filled the room with the chill of lethal intent, even standing still.

He was gone in a blink, soundless.James just sat there in shock until he registered that the tickling sensation against his hip was his phone.It vibrated in his pocket, _bzz bzz bzz.Bzz bzz bzz._

Steve.

His hand wasn’t working.He fumbled the phone three times, almost dropping it in the puddle of puke.His breath came hard and fast and he could feel the sobs welling up inside him.

Steve called again - he could see the screen now, his gorgeous face in a goofy smile that too few people ever saw.

_Don’t let him follow me.They’ll make him like me._

“No,” he moaned out loud.James stumbled to his feet.Up, up, up.Get to Steve, get to Steve.He was breathing hard from near death experience with a side of four flights of stairs when he got to the door.He went right in anyway.He had to see Steve.

Steve was still in his underwear, fucking Adonis with a scar on his belly.His face immediately morphed into an expression of concern.

“What’s wrong?Did something—”

The sobs that threatened downstairs clawed their way out of his diaphragm.Before he knew it, he was cradled in Steve’s arms, only half aware of his own voice saying over and over again:

“We have to go. _We have to go_.”

 

 

 

He had realized, watching the other man vomit and quake and pretend at bravery—

_This is not a handler._

No.No, not a handler.This was a _lover_.This was…

_His replacement._

Oh, and the other voice, it had known that.Known that from the moment they laid eyes on him at the hospital.Those touches weren’t ownership.The sex wasn’t control.The other part of him that could comprehend knew and it was _jealous_.

“You would have let me kill him,” he growled.

It - _Bucky -_ had nothing to say.Not now.But he had a lot to say in the moment, staring at the other man, gun in hand.

_(end of the line huh, you son of a bitch, that’s some nerve, saying that when you got yourself a lookalike, he’s even missing an arm, how did you know, how did you fucking know!)_

Bucky took control of him for a minute.Bucky wanted to kill the other man.Steve’s lover.

_(he’s mine, he’s fucking mine, you can’t touch what we had, what I gave him, you don’t even know him!)_

But he remembered what Bucky remembered.He knew what Bucky had done.Bucky had thrown Steve away, broken his heart, and he didn’t know much but he did know that meant he had no claim on Steve now.And if he ever wanted one, he wouldn’t get it by murdering someone close to him.That was the only thing that allowed him to wrest control from Bucky, to ease the gun away and deliver the warning he’d come for.They both wanted that. 

_Don’t follow._

_Don’t let him throw himself to the wolves that made me._

_(us)_

“Да,” he sighed. “нас.”

 

 

 

His mind was still shivery two hours later.He tried in vain to calm the swirl of thoughts as the world whipped by outside the window of the Amtrak train.Steve was next to him, backpack at his feet. 

After his breakdown Steve sat him on the couch and then went into the bedroom to pack two bags at lightning speed.In another twenty minutes they were at Union Station.Twenty minutes after that, they were on the train headed for New York.

“Tony won’t mind us crashing,” Steve assured him.“Still have a whole floor, and the Tower is probably the most secure building in Manhattan.” 

James blinked and then let his eyelids droop.He had a hell of a headache, and while the gum he bought in the Hudson News helped his breath and calmed his stomach a little, his throat still felt like he’d swallowed razorblades.His jaw and ribs were sore, too, but there were no marks.The Soldier knew how to control that arm - how not to leave evidence.

James sighed, breath puffing an oval on the window.He was confused by his own behavior.When he calmed down Steve had asked him if something happened, and he said no.Right to Steve’s face, he said no.

That was his _chance_.His opportunity to show Steve that The Winter Soldier and Bucky weren’t the same person, that he was _dangerous_.So why did he lie?He didn’t know, but he felt no more inclination to tell him now than he had in that moment.

Instead, he let Steve think it was because he didn’t feel safe in the apartment.Let him feel guilty for the week spent there trying to jump through the hoops of putting a bugged apartment owned by a top government agent up for sale.He knew Steve didn’t want to be there, either.He’d watched him sit on the phone with the annoyed look on his face.He even offered to go to a hotel even though James was fully aware that was the last thing he wanted to do.He knew all that and still let him take the hit.

If there was a world’s worst boyfriend award, he was earning it.But they were going to Stark Tower, which was, like Steve said, one of the safest places around.The Winter Soldier couldn’t reach them there.Once they got to a place where this ghost of Steve’s past couldn’t touch them, maybe he would be able to think.

 

 

 

 

He was in the bar, the same one that had started it all.He had always liked its black and white tile floor and rounded wood counter.They weren't the original stools, but they had made an effort to buy something similar, so it all combined to feel shockingly like someplace he knew when he first thawed out.Well, if not for the people, who were so diverse and beautiful and different that he knew he was an alien in his own home.

And then there were actual aliens.

He felt like an alien again, but for a different reason.This time he was trying to blend in and not be recognized for what he was. _Who_ he was.He might be hoping against hope.

That was clearly the case when the bartender caught sight of him.It was the same man who had worked here a year ago, when Steve would drift in for some beer and people watching.He braced himself.

There must have been something in his face or his posture, though.The bartender closed his mouth and nodded at him.Acknowledgment, but not announcement.Steve relaxed and took the same stool he always had, at the end, close to the dining area.

A cocktail napkin appeared on the bar before him.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, offering the other man a smile.A real one.It was an effort.The draft list was set down on the counter and the words blurred together; he didn’t care what he drank.

The bartender gave him a minute.Steve pointed at a random beer when he came back, then watched as he poured.The beer tasted like coffee and he didn’t hate that.He nursed it and watched the bartender make the orders that came in from the late lunch crowd at the tables.

In a lull, the bartender squinted at him.“It’s been a while.”

He shrugged.“Moved down to D.C.”

“It’s a nice city.”

Steve felt a sudden urge for a cigarette.That was new and different.Sometimes he wanted to be around the smell for the nostalgia of it, but he’d never wanted to smoke one himself.He wasn’t going to start now.He could only imagine the PR bullshit.

“Too much politicking for me.”

The bartender slowed his mixing - some elaborate thing with an egg white and two kinds of bitters - and Steve could tell the layers of the statement weren’t lost on him.He finished the drink and poured it into two coupes.As he garnished them with twists of lemon peel, he said,“I think I speak for everyone here when I say I’m glad you’re in one piece.”

Was he?

“There might be a few nuts and bolts at the bottom of the Potomac,” he murmured. _Maybe some marbles, too._ He could feel the other man looking at him, thoughtful.

“It’s bad,” he said at last, “but it could have been a lot worse.You’re the reason it’s not.”

He didn’t feel like it.Since they’d come back to New York, James barely looked at him.Wouldn’t touch him.He looked like he wasn’t sleeping, but said he was all right, and that was about _all_ he said. _I’m fine, Steve, I’m fine._ It was so obviously untrue that it bordered on ridiculous.Steve was beginning to understand what it was like when he offered people that empty assurance.

His boyfriend was avoiding him.That hurt like hell, and on top of so many other hurts, he was approaching his breaking point.There was no job to throw himself into anymore.No public appearance free of people seeking to blame him, as if he didn’t blame himself enough.No corner of his mind was safe from Bucky, or from the knowledge that he himself had done the work of Hydra.He should have known.The minute he saw those weapons on the first Avengers mission, he should have known.

The glass creaked beneath his fingers.Steve let go.It was too late, though; a fine crack had formed where his thumb sat, and the bartender noticed.

“Add that to my tab,” Steve said with a faint smile.

The other man shook his head, solemn. “You’ve already paid.”

And how.

 

 

 

He thought leaving the Tower might make him feel better.He was wrong.Pain vibrated in his bones as he wandered the city.New York was good for wandering; there was anonymity in the sheer numbers of people.People who were trying to live their lives and get where they were going with a minimum of interaction with strangers.Steve still remembered how odd it was when the USO tour stopped in towns in the south and midwest and people would look him in the eye and strike up conversations like he wasn’t some random bozo.

If he was wearing the right shoes, he would have run.He wasn’t, so he did the next best thing.He followed the stream of foot traffic to the nearest subway entrance and let the tunnels take him where they would.

 

 

 

 

Some combination of fate and intuition took him to the zoo.He didn’t know where James went during the day; he wasn’t working, wasn’t taking classes, and the friends he had here no doubt had their own jobs and lives that they had to attend to once in a while.He might have gone to his parents’, but that was a drive, and their car, which Steve had gone back for two days after settling James into the Tower, was still in the parking deck.

Why not here? 

He paid the entrance fee and took his time.If James was here, he knew where he would find him.Eventually he made his way to the World of Reptiles.It was dark inside, thank God; nobody noticed him.It wasn’t busy, either.Most people didn’t come to the zoo to see the lizards.

Sure enough, he was there, sitting on a bench across from the caiman habitat.Steve walked past him to look into the enclosure.He spotted Snowflake right away; she had grown, but still had the distinctive spots along her jaw.

“She looks good,” he said softly.

James started.Steve stayed where he was, giving him time.

“Yeah,” he agreed, breath shaky.“They’re taking good care of her.”James stood and made his way to the glass, next to Steve but a few feet away.

He had been thinking the whole way here about what would make James behave the way he was.He’d settled on one thing, the only thing it could be.Incidentally, it was also the only thing he couldn’t help or change. 

“I put you in danger,” he started.This wasn’t the ideal place to do this, but it was where it was going to happen.“I should have prioritized your safety instead of assuming you wanted any part of the fight.I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” James sighed.

“You have every right to be angry with me.But I can’t promise it will never happen again.I…I’m in the public eye, and…with the way things are going…it’s one thing when your enemy is an alien or an evil Nazi caricature.When it’s your own government…”

“Steve, I—”

He heard James distantly, but now that he started talking, he had to finish.

“If it’s going to be a deal breaker - and it should be, it’s selfish of me to ask you to expose yourself to danger over and over again - then please just tell me now.I can’t do this anymore.”

“ _Steve_ ,” James said firmly.His hand was fisted in the front of Steve’s zip-up fleece.Steve looked up, readying himself for the inevitable blow.“Steve, I’m not leaving you.”

He blinked at James.He had built some kind of wall inside himself on the train ride.He was sure James was avoiding him because he didn’t want to be with him anymore.He would dump him just like Bucky had, and really, who could blame him?No one wanted Steve Rogers in this incarnation.He was a magnet for trouble, sometimes self-made, sometimes not, and all he did was put the people he loved in danger. 

But James said he wasn’t leaving.He should have been happy.He _was_.So why were his eyes stinging with tears?Something that was half anger and half sadness flared in his chest as the wall fell.

“Then where the _fuck_ have you been?” 

James flinched.“Oh, Steve.I’m sorry.I’m so sorry.”He pushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb.“You _did_ prioritize my safety.You protected me and everyone else at your own expense.You’re not selfish.There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His touch felt good, and it was all fine sentiment, but:

“You didn’t answer the question.”It fucking _hurt_ to be given the cold shoulder, like those first few months in Europe with Bucky, desperate for a drop of his attention, feeling more and more worthless with every passing day.Maybe that was where it had all begun, that hard split between Steve Rogers and Captain America.Steve Rogers was heartbroken and useless.Captain America didn’t have that luxury.He soldiered on.He took the lead.He looked Bucky in the face and pretended it was all right.

He was Steve now, though.

James glanced around like he had in the early days of their relationship, making sure there was no audience.Finding none, he swallowed and straightened his spine and said, “I’ve been trying to figure out how I can protect you.From yourself, and from other people.”

He wasn’t prepared for that.“James, I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do.”

The anger bubbled again.“And you thought the best way to do that was to leave me _alone_?”

James’s nostrils flared and an answering anger lit in his eyes.“The last time you were like this, someone took advantage of you.I didn’t want to be like him.”

The words clotheslined him.For a moment Steve couldn’t breathe.James looked instantly regretful, reaching out.Steve caught his hand halfway through the gesture and squeezed.

“You’re _nothing_ like him.Don’t you ever even _think_ that.”

“How do I know you’re in your right mind when I’ve heard you talk about how the only time it stopped hurting before was when you _fucked strangers_?That’s addict behavior, Steve!”

“I know what I want,” Steve said, low and soft.“I did then, too.Don’t you take that from me.” 

James faltered, frozen by the warning tone in his voice.It took them both all the way back to that first night where James had _been_ one of those strangers he might have fucked.He still remembered the sting of that morning-after, where James had misstepped so badly that Steve almost didn’t give him a second chance.

Steve pursed his lips, annoyed but understanding how James could have drawn his conclusions.He wasn’t addicted to sex.He liked it, a lot, and it did help when he had no other way to quiet his emotions, but nothing dire would happen if he didn’t have it.

“ _Obviously_ I can go without,” he muttered.“You haven’t touched me since we left D.C.”

James put a hand over his face, chagrined and frustrated.“This isn’t the place to talk about this.”

That much was true.A group of schoolchildren had just entered the reptile exhibit.

“This is where I had to find you because you were hiding from me,” Steve pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe I was.”James lifted his chin.“Call Roz.That’s where we need to talk about this.”

“She has a schedule, I can’t just—”

“ _Steven._ ”

He sighed.“Fine.”

 

 

 

 

They spent the afternoon together.It was a little awkward, but it was comfortably so, because they were both still happier in the orbits of one another’s annoyance.Truth be told, James was starting to feel _awful_ about avoiding Steve.He was honest when Steve asked him where he was; he had gone to Tony a few days in and asked for a prosthesis.Not just an arm, but something he could use defensively if the need arose.

Tony was like a kid in a candy shop; he wanted to kit the arm out with surgical instruments and a treat dispenser (“Robo-vet!”), but also with lasers and missiles and all sorts of madness.He stayed in the lab for hours to make sure Tony didn't go overboard.He didn’t want it to be more weapon than limb.Not like _him_.

Roz took them at 7:30, after her last appointment.James was happy to learn that Steve had been in contact with her.He gathered that most of what they talked about was related to the Hydra deception and the way people were pointing fingers at him now - the fucking _audacity,_ seriously - and he supposed that had to be okay.He couldn’t make Steve talk about Bucky.

_You’re a fucking hypocrite, James Barnes._

Yeah, he was.He still hadn’t told Steve about his meeting with the Soldier.

But they were here to talk about something else, and they did, for over an hour.They both yelled, they both cried, and when it was all done they were sent on their way with stern advice to _communicate, James, Steve isn’t psychic;_ _it isn’t fair to make James your only coping mechanism, Steve;_ and _why don’t you work on cultivating other forms of intimacy, gentlemen._

Steve requested an Uber for the ride home, something he rarely did, probably because he didn’t want eyes on him.There, in the backseat of the SUV, James could see how much of a toll the last few weeks had taken on him.Steve sat boneless, rubbing his eyes under his sunglasses.Fatigue hung on him like a cloak.

Ah, God, he’d been an idiot with his head in the sand.He’d neglected him instead of just having a hard conversation.There were other hard conversations ahead, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He climbed across the seat and slid into Steve’s lap.Steve didn’t push him away, just tilted his neck back to accept the soft kisses he pressed there.

“We’re supposed to cultivate other forms of intimacy,” Steve said, a hint of humor in his tired voice.

“We will,” James murmured.Fuck, he smelled good.“After the make-up sex.”

 

 

 

The Uber driver had to clear his throat when they arrived at the Tower.All they were doing was making out, but James was pretty sure Steve tipped the guy a hundred dollars.They went through the doors and into the elevator with their hands linked.

 

 

 

The dawn-light was good here, Steve had said it before, and he was up painting long before James woke.He watched him for a while.It helped that he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“C’mere.”

“Hm?”

“Come over here and help me.”

James laughed.“Steve, I can’t art.”

“You don’t get to say that.I’m over here utilizing my other coping mechanisms and asking you to participate in another form of intimacy.”He could _hear_ the shit-eating grin in Steve’s voice.He was going to make them both suffer, troll that he was, and James loved him for it.

James rolled out from under the covers.“You’re gonna regret it.”

 

 

 

But actually, it was good.Steve’s hand on his, his voice, teaching him how to do something gentle and creative - it _was_ intimate.He probably ruined the painting, but its subject matter (a scrawny pigeon) clearly wasn’t meant to be a masterpiece, and it was kind of mesmerizing to watch Steve blend colors to achieve the shiny look of the neck feathers.Steve talked him through how to do the eye.It looked shaky and juvenile to him but Steve swore up and down it was great.By the end of it James was so turned on he could barely stand it.

Steve had mercy on him.

“Still make-up sex,” he murmured, and pulled James into his lap.

 

 

 

Steve completed the pigeon painting and gave it to Tony.The finished product had a bit of a scandalized, pop-art look to it.And why not?It had watched them fuck, reverse cowboy in a chair that _had_ to be reinforced for superhero reasons, because it never even creaked under their weight.

Tony didn’t quite know what to do with the painting, but he made sure to put it up somewhere because it was his and Steve’s first collaboration.They’d both signed their initials to it, naked as the day they were born and giddy with endorphins.Steve chuckled whenever he walked by the painting.James’s toes curled in his sneakers and he felt simultaneously embarrassed and deeply satisfied when he saw it.Steve had railed him good in front of that pigeon.

They’d painted together since.It didn’t always lead to sex, but sometimes it did.Same for when they read to each other (reading Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to Steve was a genuine pleasure), or when James took Steve to volunteer at the animal shelter and taught him how to feed newborn kittens.This intimacy thing wasn’t bad.

He got an e-mail from the place he had worked in D.C. three weeks after pulling his head out of the sand (or his own ass, Steve liked to say).The subject line was FOUND! and attached was a picture of Nick Furry.He read back through the chain of e-mails, which were to and from Steve; his boyfriend had put every shelter in the city on the lookout for his asshole cat, practically the minute he’d been released from the hospital.

He cried when the stupid thing was delivered to their door, hissing and spitting in its box.The cat immediately peed on Steve’s running shoes.And, naturally, Nick Furry loved Tony.Steve just made a disgusted noise that Tony didn’t understand and left them to their bromance.

 

 

 

He discovered the depth of his mistakes two weeks later.Steve walked in, brimming with some kind of purpose.He waited for James to put Nick Furry down and then sat next to him on the couch.

“I wanted to run something by you,” he said, cautious but confident.

James nodded.

“I want to go on the road for a bit,” Steve started.“To look for Bucky.Nat’s been chasing some leads, and I think—”

“No.”It was reflex, pure reflex, but he couldn’t take it back.

“What?” Steve asked, slow, like he thought he had misheard.

Fuck.Fuck.He should have been watching him all that time.What did he think Steve would do, given time alone in the aftermath of Project Insight and all its terrible realizations?Even the fucking Soldier knew him better than James, it seemed.And with Natasha on board it would all be frighteningly quick and efficient.

It was now or never.He had to keep Steve from doing this.Had to keep him here, safe, by whatever means necessary.

“I don’t want you to go after him,” James said. 

Steve was silent, blinking several times as he processed.He looked like it had never even occurred to him that James would disagree with his plan.

“James, I…I _have_ to.”

“No, you don’t.”

He was silent once again.The air was thick with his shock, which was gradually turning into the most unbearable tension.

Steve tried again.“He’s my friend, James.I have to help if I can.If it was Sam…”

“Sam never tried to kill anyone.And let’s be honest, he was more than just your friend.”

Steve inhaled quick and sharp through his nose, and his eyes sparked.“This isn’t about that and you _know_ it.”

“How?How do I know it?” he demanded.This was supposed to be an act but it felt dangerously real, raw, like the words were pushing out of some hurt place in his chest.

“Have I…have I somehow not proven to you that I love you?” Steve asked.

“You admitted that you still love him.”God, it’s been a splinter in his heart, and it was okay when he was dead but now he’s alive and Steve wants to run off after him. 

“James,” he pleaded.He was trapped.

_Lie to me, Steve, just lie to me, for once in your fucking life…_

“You don’t believe me,” Steve said, soft and accusatory.His eyes pooled.“You don’t _trust_ me.”

And now he was trapped, because he _didn’t_.Every part of him screamed that he shouldn’t have to do this, he shouldn’t have to fight with Steve to get his way.He wanted Steve to pick him. He _needed_ Steve to pick him.Beyond that, he knew it was wrong to leverage their relationship like this, so wrong, but if it kept Steve here…

“You wanted to run something by me, well, now you did, and the answer is no.”

Steve was breathing hard.He looked… _betrayed_.That was the only term for it.

“Don’t do this, James.Don’t ask me to choose.” 

Those simple words made him _so_ angry, blind rage kind of angry, because there was no choice.There was no choice at all.He couldn’t control it.

“You want to prove you love me?” he shouted.“Then you forget about him!You stay right here where it’s safe.That’s what you do if you love me.”

Something changed in Steve’s face, and his body went tight with fury.

“Stay home where it’s safe,” he shot back, flat and lethal.He shook his head.“What ever happened to _love isn’t control_?”

It punched through his own anger, then, that he might have just said the one thing that would push this beyond repair.James opened his mouth but his mind went blank.The hot pulse of wrath was quickly ebbing into something else, something rank and nauseating and final.He tried, honest to God he _tried_ to think of something to say, but there was nothing that could salvage the hole he’d dug himself into.

Steve trembled with rage and hurt and Lord only knew what else.But all he said was:

“We’re done here.”

And it was so cold, so unlike him, that for a moment it didn’t feel real.But when the door slammed and he was alone, James knew.

Steve had just broken up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The proverb 'you can't glue a broken cup' means, more or less, that some things are too broken to be fixed.
> 
> If you're curious about the golem --> http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/the-golem
> 
> Also, sorry.


End file.
